


EPISODE SEVEN: Syndicate

by J_COTW



Series: A Return to the Falls [23]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dipcifica, Dippacifica, F/M, Gen, Gravity Falls Oregon, Inspired By Gravity Falls, PacificaxDipper, Post-Gravity Falls, Returning to Gravity Falls, dipperxpacifica, dippifica, return to the falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 10:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 45,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28616820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_COTW/pseuds/J_COTW
Summary: When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.
Relationships: Pacifica Northwest/Dipper Pines
Series: A Return to the Falls [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764109
Comments: 195
Kudos: 45





	1. The Club

The sun was beginning to set on Gravity Falls; pimple of the American Northwest. The crickets began their merry refrain, the Question Quails returning to their nests. The town, as ever, carried a veneer of peace and comfort - a sleepy, quiet place, surrounded by cliffs and sharp, angular pines. The babbling brooks, roaring waterfalls and the warm summer winds providing the only disturbance to the almost perfectly peaceful atmosphere. 

The town’s lamps flickered to life, starting to glow in a warm, golden hue. Soft trails of smoke began to flow in curling, slinky trails from the chimneys and pipes that sit atop every clapperboard house and roof tile. 

It was, beyond all else, a modicum of peace. Peace and unshakable fortitude - after all, no matter what happens elsewhere, or even what happened to it - Gravity Falls still seemed to stand, relatively unchanged, relatively unshaken. It seemed bizarre to use the word, but the town - for all of its weirdness, all of its strange citizens, all of its oddities - was stable. It was secure. 

It was...home. 

Stability could not be understated. Security and stability was one of those pleasures in life that people discounted. Something you couldn't buy. Pacifica Northwest _felt_ stable and secure for the first summer of her life. She felt comfortable and happy, and she was proud to say it. 

Her smile was no longer forced for the cameras - it was one that was genuine, enthusiastic, even a little excited. For Pacifica Northwest, Gravity Falls no longer felt like a prison. It felt like a place of wonderful people doing selfless things, helping themselves get by. Sure, they were all a little mental and some of them smelt - hell, she was pretty sure some of them ate asphalt as a hobby considering how black their teeth were - but they were _good_. They were good people who, through one way or another, took care of one another. 

Gravity Falls' citizens could be crass, stupid and ridiculously odd. But they were welcoming, forgiving - compassionate. She had never seen it before Weirdmageddon. But she had grown to understand it, to love it, even felt like she belonged there. 

Gravity Falls was special. 

Of course, out of towners could be decent too…

She clutched Dipper's hand and smiled warmly as he squirmed uncomfortably in that velvet dinner jacket, trying his damnedest to get used to wearing a cravat and trying his damnedest to keep his cool. Not specifically in that order. 

Dipper had offered to take her to any restaurant in town, and Grunkle Ford had thrown in a pretty substantial amount of money from the "Pines Pile" to make sure it was the sort of thing she liked. It had only taken him three days of arguing and a couple of punches to get Stanley to agree. 

For Stan Pines to give up money so easily was a pretty fierce compliment. 

Mind, the two Grunkles were probably millionaires thanks to the amount of treasure and museum artefacts they had discovered over the past year - though they kept it remarkably quiet. Pacifica was pretty sure that now Stan had _managed_ to get his fortune, he was actually kinda unsure what he wanted to _do_ with it.

He had spent a fair bit helping out Soos - rumour had it that _The Awesome Express_ , the new Mr. Mystery’s beloved train ride, was going to get an extension from Stan Pines’ pocket for Soos’s birthday - but otherwise, he had kept it stashed away. Stowed into some kind of trust fund where the amount would increase and his impoverished exterior remained. 

Knowing Stan, it was probably to avoid paying tax on it. Was underwater treasure and ship salvage taxable? Even if it wasn’t, he clearly had no intention of taking chances. 

All the same, there he was, proudly drawing his newly repaired Diablo up to the sheltered drive-thru canopy of **_The Club_** , clifftop luxuriant lynch-pin (get it?) of Gravity Falls. The peak of cultured civilisation in the town. The only place, since the collapse of so much of the Northwest empire, that the rich positively flocked towards. 

The themed edifice of the establishment seemed to loom over them in a mixture of intimidation and pure intrigue. It felt as exciting as it did commanding. Like a step beyond the ordinary. It was, after all, no ordinary venue.

It was The Club. 

In truth, the place didn’t feel that much like a restaurant. Not the way that Dipper envisioned one. No buffet counter, no acne-ridden teenager stood behind a till, no visible kitchen. He had only been there once before and he was, if nothing else, ridiculously curious about how the place was meant to _work_.

So he had agreed.

Dipper Pines and Pacifica Northwest were on a dinner date. A dinner date to The Club. 

The nervous teen squirmed as they climbed out of the convertible and took in idyllic surroundings. The beautiful cliff top view of the town below, the little glade surrounded by pine trees, filled with only the finest automobiles. 

No litter. Not a single crack in the pavement. Not a single out of place leaf in the decorative topiaries. 

A weird… playing card motif, everywhere. 

“You ready, hon?” Pacifica smiled, clutching his arm. “You sure you’re happy with the suit?”

“Y-yeah. Why, does it not look right?”

“I mean, I’m not sure how well your colour choices match, but…”

Dipper gave her a nervous smile - then frowned to himself as he pulled that fine silk cravat a little further from his neck, fiddled uncomfortably with his pocket square - tried to work out if his cuffs were buttoned correctly. Adjusted his old timey white shirt.

“Yeah, you look great, hon.” She giggled. “Promise.”

This stuff never sat right with him. Dressing fancy wasn't in his strata, and dressing _fancy for a dinner_ just felt… Weird. Like, grown up. Romantic. The idea seemed to get him more flustered than it did Pacifica.

He almost wondered if she was just teasing him, and there’d be a burger bar inside or something. 

“You look great too.” He replied with a slight stammer, a trickle of sweat running down his brow.

Though in his mind, that was a colossal understatement. Pacifica was wearing an evening dress, not dissimilar to that she had worn on the night of the Lumberjack. However, in place of sea-foam (or was it lake foam?) green, she was debecked in a rich, ruby red. It was opulent, finished with black gloves and a belt around her middle. Her hair still had hints of purple-pinkish highlights from their ill-fated photoshoot with Toby Determined, and… part of her seemed pretty resolute to at least carry an aspect of that rebellious, slightly punky aesthetic he had commented positively towards. 

It hadn’t gone unnoticed. Dipper was trying his hardest to stay subtle, but in the outfit he was wearing, he wasn’t sure he could _be_ subtle. Was it him or was it really, really warm? Was Pacifica holding him even closer than usual? Was she fluttering her eyelashes every time he looked at her?

They had been a thing for just over half of the summer, and things still felt so strange to him. He loved her, she loved him, but the worlds they belonged to, no matter how much they had fiercely collided, felt strangely separate and extraterrestrial to him. It still seemed so bizarre.

Almost as bizarre as the fact he was wearing a matching, dark red velvet dinner jacket. With a collar. And lapels. And silk internals. 

This thing probably cost more than everything he had ever worn in his life. He was even wearing white dinner gloves.

Gloves. Gloves for dinner. How did that make sense?

He chuckled nervously as her lips pressed against his cheek, his hands firmly fixed to his sides - flat as a board. It felt as if the whole world was watching them and judging him for his lack of ability to respond to the situation at hand. And for apparently not matching colours correctly.

As it stood, only one person was watching and laughing. And he was having a whale of a time.

“C’mon kid, get in there!” Stan cackled from the car with his usual lack of subtlety. “If I don’t see at least one hickey on your neck when you come home, I’m locking you both out! HA!”

The Diablo screeched into life and floored it out of the car park, veering in a handbrake turn and ramming one of the rare Cadillacs with its rear fin. The expensive automobile shifted forward, tipped its back and went plummeting down the cliffside in a dramatic roll, each crash, thump and crump becoming steadily quieter as it descended.

Pacifica and Dipper grimaced as the sound of a gas tank blowing up refrained from ground below. They decided to try and ignore the smoking hood ornament that flew skywards and landed on their feet.

It was tacky, anyway. Who’d miss it?

They turned to face the steadfast doorman, picked out from the red facade of the building in his perfectly white shirt, a black bow-tie done up so tightly it squeezed his already pencil-thin neck. His features were smooth, his stance similar to that of a guard from Buckingham palace.

Only with a crap combover in the place of a busby hat. 

The tall, sleek figure only slightly tilted his head to face the visitors, his thin eyebrow lifting into a steep arch as his bulbous eyes pierced them.

Dipper flinched. Pacifica held his waist and smiled, confidently. “We’ve got a booking.”

There was a pause, the man’s smooth, oiled face lifting back up, seemingly trailing back off into his steadfast pose. His eyes gazed over the soft, glowing townscape below them, seemingly nonplussed with the diminutive couple before him. 

Dipper wasn’t sure if he’d even heard them, or if the strange, almost otherworldly waiter was making an attempt to ignore them. He moistened his lips and was about to say something, when the beanpole of a man spoke up, apparently having checked over his memory as opposed to any written guest list. 

At least, that was how Dipper rationalised it. It was made somewhat more bizarre by the fact they hadn’t given their names in the first place. 

“Of course.” the doorman droned in a deep, nasal tone, with a certain, tuneful flamboyance.”Pacifica Northwest and Mason Pines. Our young socialite and her ghosthunting flame. What a _pleasure_.” 

This stuff felt so weird. Is this how fancy people lived? Gross. This… posh restaurant person barely seemed human. In fact, Dipper was pretty sure he had never seen the bizarre figure in town, either - and in a place like Gravity Falls, you at least recognised familiar faces from the background.

This...ethereal waiter was not a familiar face. He was wrong. Everything about him seemed _wrong_.

Dipper’s suspicious head was already clocking into overdrive. Was it aliens? Fish monsters? Was he possessed? Some sort of walking waxwork? He resisted the urge to clamour for the journal he had managed to stow inside his dinner jacket. Pacifica would go nuts if she knew he had brought it.

“Follow me, children.” The waiter continued, turning on his heel and beginning to walk - or, perhaps more accurately, navigate the white and black tiled floor in a strange, rapid step that made him appear to glide across the disorientating, perfectly polished surface. 

Dipper’s eyes followed him suspiciously as he guided them between the dark, red velvet curtains into a large, circular room, tables arranged on far sides with uplighter lamps looming around them - all arranged in plush velvet, leather, mahogany and lace. There was no smell, seemingly no noise, save for the restrained chatter of the other distinguished guests.

Dipper almost tripped over his own feet as his attention remained fixed to their host. Pacifica caught him and giggled. 

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah. Just nervous.”

“Don’t worry, hon. I’m here. This is way more natural to me than it is to you, I guess.”

“This is natural?” 

“I mean, I-”

They were interrupted by the waiter bending down closer to them. “Your table, lady and gent. What would you like to drink while you go over the menu?” 

“You uh- you got any Pitt cola?” Dipper asked, wondering if it was somehow an offensive remark.

“We stock Crystal Pitt here, Sir. Only the finest.” 

Dipper’s eyes went wide. “I- I thought they stopped making that, like, fifteen years ago? There’s been tons of campaigns on twitcher to-”

“They did, Sir. Two glasses of Crystal Pitt?” 

“But I-”

“That’s fine, thank you.” Pacifica smiled, patting her bewildered boyfriend’s hand.

“Very good, madame. Please, take your seats.”

The man was joined by a near identical one - almost a perfect mirror image of he himself - and they pulled out the chairs for them, acting as if the teenagers were a fully fledged Duke and Duchess, gliding their backs back into their place with no shortage of precision. 

The perfect distance from the table and each other's hands. Not too close to be uncomfortable, not too far to feel distant. The two exchanged a loving gaze as the waiters departed behind those velvet curtains, their silhouettes seemingly disappearing into the disorientating, structureless layout of the room. 

“H-have you been here before?” Dipper started, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt, seemingly fiddling with them as a nervous tick in place of any meaningful changes. “It’s… nice.” 

“It’s crazy, huh?” Pacifica beamed. “I visited when we were picking up my Dad from a Business dinner, when I was like, 6. I thought it was an interdimensional gateway or something. Can’t remember why, but it made sense at the time.”

Dipper nodded absently as he looked around, then to Pacifica’s hand on the table.

He blinked, exhaled and clutched it firmly. “Is all of this normal?”

“I mean, the sweating, the rapid pulse, the fact you keep staring… pretty normal for you.” She giggled, a red tinge appearing on her cheeks. 

“H-hey!” He replied, flushing a deep red. “I meant the… the waiters and-”

She smirked. “Yeah, kinda. This sort of place is different, Dipper. It’s not like Yumberjacks or Los Hermanos, y’know?”

“Do you not think there’s something strange going on, though? I dunno, it just seems… paranormal.” He replied in a hushed, conspiratorial tone - his hand plunging into his jacket to pull out the Journal. 

Pacifica rolled her eyes, huffed, and grabbed his wrist, firmly. “Dipper, not everything is paranormal or supernatural, okay? I get it feels weird, but drop the monster hunting thing for one night. Please.”

“You gotta admit I’ve got a sense for this stuff.” He tried to protest admirably. “I’m just saying, it’s odd here.”

“You have, Dipper, and it’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing. But come on, just you and me, in a fancy restaurant? I’d prefer if you didn’t mess it up.” 

“Hey, hey, I get it. Sorry. I just... “ He squirmed and, at last, swallowed his anxiety and pride in one large gulp. “You’re amazing too, y’know.”

The waiter filled their champagne flutes with that rare, perfectly clear soda as the two gazed at eachother, settling into a rathermore peaceful evening than they had become acclimated to. 

No Curzon Cankerblight, no Preston, Northwest, no Bill Cipher.

It was damned right weird, far too fancy and a little bit uncanny, but even bug-eyed beanpole waiters and apparently extinct sodas felt much more ordinary than their past couple of weeks. 

And, in a way, it was kinda… nice. 

Soon Dipper was concentrating only on doing his best to keep his beloved girlfriend happy, and keep the evening peaceful, pleasant and… normal. Probably the biggest challenge of his entire damned life. 

On the up side though, Crystal Pitt? Absolutely _amazing_.


	2. Rest in Pain (Au Chocolat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The meal was a bit beyond Dipper’s comfort zone, too. He had eaten steak before, but Steak Tartare took a bit of time for him to get his head around. All the same, Pacifica had told him to be daring, and daring he had been.

He poked it curiously with his fork. “Is this safe to eat?”

“Of course it is.” Pacifica chuckled. “They say it’s like, the best in the state.” 

“I’ve never eaten a meal that costs as much as a snowglobe at the Shack.” Dipper winced. “Like, is there etiquette or something?”

“Dipper, just eat the food. Honestly, you’re doing great.”

He looked down at the raw beef on his plate and twisted his lip. Top quality Irish beef, hand chopped, according to the menu - flown in from a secret location every week. It was accompanied with oysters, caviar, a Question Quail egg (soft boiled) and pickles. 

Why did the pickles bother him most about it?

He poked it with his fork again. He couldn’t deny it looked fancy, especially considering they had sprinkled it with gold leaf and had laid it on an ironic, ridiculously rare New Yorker cartoon from 1925. (Something about the Great Depression, yadda yadda.) But raw? Raw beef? Was that normal rich person food? That couldn’t be normal rich person food.

“What’s it covered in?”

“Gold, saffron and paprika.”

“What if I’m allergic?”

“To gold, saffron or paprika?”

“I mean… any of them.”

"You aren’t going to be allergic, hon. Go on, be daring!" she beamed, grabbing his arm and giving him a little shake. "After what you've managed to go through, a bit of beef is nothing, right?" 

Dipper blinked and looked up at Pacifica - then back down at his plate. He smiled, and did as he was told, lifting up a chunk of the $150 main course, bucking up his courage, taking a deep breath and-

It actually wasn't that bad. A bit weird, but it tasted pretty decent. In fact, he thought he kinda liked it. Maybe he  _ could _ get used to this stuff. All he had to do was be an adventurer like his Grunkles. What was the downside? 

"Proud of you, babe." Pacifica grinned, resting her head on her hand - clearly understating the fact she had finished her own plate about ten minutes ago with the minimum of fuss. 

"Do I eat the oysters too?" 

"Yeah, you're meant to. But to be honest-" 

Dipper tipped one into his mouth, and almost instantly regretted it. It was like drinking a raw egg white from an ashtray.

"-I really can't stand oysters." she giggled, trying not to burst into hysterics at the sight of Dipper's reaction. 

He gagged. He tried his hardest not to, but he gagged. It was kind of unavoidable. It took a quick motion to spit it into a nearby lady’s purse while Pacifica tried to stop herself crying with laughter - the noise of her hysterics being replaced by near-silent cackling, her fists clenching on the table as her shoulders bucked uncontrollably. 

They had to make as much effort to control themselves as possible as the waiter arrived to collect the plates, Pacifica nearly choking on the $15-per-glass soda as Dipper’s face went through a multitude of expressions in reaction to the less-than-palettable shellfish. 

“Man!” She giggled. “That was practically worth the price of the meal alone!”

“H-hey, it wasn’t that funny!” Dipper chuckled and pushed her playfully. “Stop laughing!”

“You’re right, it was hilarious.” She smirked, pushing him back. 

There was a moment of peace as they smiled at eachother, their eyes fixed in a constant gaze, their lips curled into genuine expressions of happiness, of comfort, and of contentment. They leaned in a little closer, almost completely apathetic to the fact there were so many of the state’s finest, richest, most elite citizens in the same room.

It was just Dipper Pines and Pacifica Northwest. And, for at least a moment, it was perfect. The waiter brought them luxury pain au chocolat, the state’s finest babyccinos, a selection of tiny pastries shaped like playing card symbols - it was all just… serene. 

‘Was’ being the key word. 

“HEY GUYS!” 

Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin, and had to grip the table to stop himself losing his balance. 

A nearby waitress dropped a jug of boiling olive oil on the lap of a portly government politician, whose monocle flew off into one of the lampshades, sending it flying off of the lamp and rolling out of the door - swiftly joining the Cadillac at the bottom of the mountainside.

With an uncharacteristic explosion. 

Odd. 

“H-hey Grenda.” Pacifica smiled, trying not to acknowledge the general disarray she had caused. “What are you doing here?” 

“MARIUS AND I ARE ON A DATE!!”

_ Great _ . Dipper thought, somewhat bitter about the interruption. And even more bitter about the likelihood of Marius being nearby. He had never sat well with other people of Pacifica’s class, and sat even worse with the idea of it being the teenager she was technically bequeathed to, through some form or another, at the insane, ridiculously skewed command of Nathaniel Northwest. 

It worried him.

He couldn’t compete with the well dressed, well mannered, well groomed, wealthy master of the Fundhauser fortune. Was it wrong for him to feel… threatened by it? It wasn’t a lack of trust for Pacifica per se, more a lack of trust for rich people.

Of course he couldn’t help but notice that, to an extent, that was the same thing.

He adjusted his cravat to try and look his best. Even tried to flatten out his fluffy hair. Did he have anything on his face? He looked to Pacifica with the eager hope she’d reply with a dismissive - albeit polite - reply towards the town’s loudest citizen. 

She didn’t.

“Oh, that’s great!” Pacifica beamed. “W-we should make it a double date!”

Dipper’s eyes widened, one of his brows raising incredulously. 

“OHMIGOSH THAT’S AN AWESOME IDEA!! I’LL GO TALK TO HIM! WE’RE IN THE SECOND ROOM OVER THERE! OR THERE- OR- SOMEWHERE.”

Grenda, typically boisterous, and typically lacking in elegance, flew out of the room at surprising pace, throwing a waiter out of her route as she ran through an opening between the heavy, plush velvet curtains that lined the room. 

Dipper glared at his girlfriend. “What do you mean, double date?”

“Dipper, Marius is there.”

“So? Why does that matter?” He replied anxiously, clenching the table. "Why are you so excited about him being there?" 

“We wanted to look into the Fundhausers, right?” she replied - before blinking as the penny dropped. "You can't be serious. Are you being  _ jealous _ , Dipper Pines?" 

"Huh? Na, c-c'mon, I just-" 

Pacifica grinned and kissed him on the cheek. "Chill. You wanted to keep up the mystery stuff tonight, and this way,  _ we can _ . You know how important the Fundhausers were to the Northwests. We can find out how much he knows."

"Y-you  _ want _ to mystery hunt?" 

"Let's just say I've got the bug." She winked, tapping his nose - then pressing hers against it with a cheeky smile. "Besides, you seriously thought I wouldn't notice the big freaking book in your chest pocket?" 

Dipper froze. Partially from his getting flustered, partially from the intimate contact, partially from the familiar nose tap… And mostly from getting caught. 

Perhaps he  _ should _ have found a better hiding place. 


	3. Double Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Navigating The Club proved… Difficult. Truth be told, every room in the restaurant looked the same. 

It was almost nightmarish. Red velvet curtains, round tables, up lighter lamps and strangely identical waiting staff, all sat atop that patterned black and white floor that seemed to disrupt the eyes and their perspective, making the entire venue seemingly lurch and writhe around them. 

It was giving Dipper a headache. He had no idea how Pacifica managed to walk around it so confidently, but it felt more than a little demasculating to find himself practically tripping over his feet with every step - while she strode ahead, her blonde hair (with pronounced magenta tips) swaying behind her. 

He bit his lip as he tried to work out if they had already visited the room they were in. He had given up even trying to track it by the diners. Why did so many rich people look… Well...the same? 

Was that somehow derogatory to say? Did he even care? 

This floor, man. It was almost painful. 

Grenda and Marius had hired out a specialty booth for their date. It probably meant more to Marius than it did Grenda; she was no fan of isolation and still found the young magnate's often… clingy behaviour a bit of a source of irritation, regardless of how much she loved him and his company. 

Of course, in The Club, a speciality booth was just a smaller version of the usual circular room. The same uplighter lamps, the same red velvet, the same gold accents… 

Dipper didn't particularly understand the point. He had expected something really luxurious, but it still just felt… Otherworldly. 

Marius put down his knife and fork politely as they walked through the plush curtains.

Grenda was always accommodating to literally everyone. She might have been loud, boisterous, a little scary and prone to drinking spoilt milk as a hobby, but nobody could ever say she wasn't friendly. 

She was all too happy to give both Dipper and Pacifica an uncomfortably tight hug when they arrived, and practically carried them both to the table. 

"LOOK WHO IT IS, MARIUS!" 

"Ha, yes, uh - indeed. Hello, Pacifica and uh- Dippingsauce, was it?"

"Dipper."

"Ah, it's a nickname. I see. That’s an… interesting colour combination. Very brave.”

Dipper frowned. "What are you doing over in Oregon? Don't you own half of Europe?" 

"Ah, a slight exaggeration, I only own two countries. I like it here. The rustic, simple person's food, the trees, the collapse of a Western civilised economy… America is special to me." He smiled, seemingly unaware of how sharp and sarcastic his words appeared to the awkward teen. "And, of course, I have Grenda. The most amazing woman on Earth."

Grenda hawed at the top of her lungs and slapped Marius across the back. "CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS GUY?!" 

Pacifica was, at this point, putting her wide, polite grin to its limits. "That's sweet."

Dipper found suspicion in the idea of anyone loving Grenda for being… Grenda. Was that mean? He almost felt guilty but… she was just so grating, so over the top, so loud. He had found Pacifica annoying in the past too, but Grenda kinda had it… Built into her. It wasn't like it was her fault, but-

"HE'S EVEN BEEN HELPING ME CHOOSE A WEDDING DRESS!" 

Dipper and Pacifica exchanged a blank stare. 

" _What_." 

Marius chuckled. "In my country it is much more… Common to be married young."

"Y-you're both thirteen." Pacifica replied hesitantly. 

"I'M FOURTEEN IN LIKE, THREE MONTHS, PACIFICA. GAWD. DON'T RUB IT IN JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE OLDER."

"N-no, I mean, isn't getting married before like, your twenties a bit weird?!" 

"YOU SOUND JUST LIKE MY DAD. WOULDN'T YOU MARRY DIPPER NOW IF YOU COULD?!" 

Dipper nearly choked on his own spit. Pacifica went red. The two didn't really know how to respond to that. 

"Look," The Northwest protested. "I just-" 

"It ah- it is thinking long term." Marius chuckled, trying to diffuse the situation. "Grenda's parents have voiced...similar concerns."

"I mean, good." Pacifica replied, somewhat more curtly than she might have intended, resting her hand in her hip. "You can't just get married before you're even adults, guys. Come on."

"It is perhaps the reason the Fundhausers have such a history of messy divorces." Marius chuckled. "But you understand, after the loss of my Father, I-" 

"Aaaanyway." Dipper was in no mood for sob stories from some rich kid in a lady's army jacket. "We just figured we'd say hello and-" 

"YOU CAN'T LEAVE!" Grenda interrupted. "I WAS JUST TELLING MARIUS ABOUT YOUR CRAZY ADVENTURES!" 

"Ah yes, you two are quite the celebrity couple, aren't you?" Marius added. "Grenda was telling me about all of your escapades."

Dipper chuckled and brushed off his sleeve. He did love talking about that stuff, substantially more than rich people stories. He beamed and took a seat. "Well, you could say we've been around the uh… Mystery block a few times." 

Pacifica smirked, rolled her eyes, and sat with him. "Go ahead, Dip. Tell them about the Ghost of Greasy's."

"Greasy's? That's the log diner run by the crazy woman, yes?" Marius smiled. "Charming."

Pacifica's fists clenched under the table. It was Grenda whose natural enthusiasm soon defused any anger from Greasy's youngest - yet second most senior - staff member, as did seem to be her natural talent. 

"OHMIGOSH, MARIUS, THAT PLACE IS LIKE - AMAZING. THEY HAVE THE BEST COFFEE AND PIE IN THE STATE, AND THE BREAKFAST MYSTERY MEAT IS DIFFERENT EVERY DAY!" 

"So," Dipper began, "This was actually how Pacifica and I hooked up-" 

"He'd fancied me for nearly 6 months by this point." His girlfriend piped in with a grin.

"Excuse me, pretty sure it's the other way round-" 

"Ha, I don't think so!" 

Marius and Grenda sat close, their arms linked, and listened in happily as Pacifica Northwest and her sleuth of a boyfriend began regaling their adventures over freshly poured flutes of Crystal Pitt and Pain Au Chocolat. The two proved to be born storytellers, proudly recounting everything from shadow demons to ghostly train conductors. 

Dressed in finery, punctuated by polite laughter, it was perhaps the fanciest thing, in truth, that Dipper or Grenda had ever done. 

The evening trickled by surprisingly quickly, as the lights grew dim and the sky outside grew dark. Within time, their ties and shirts were unfastened at roguish degrees, the ladies had slipped off their gloves, and they were indulging in laughter and wit like old friends. 

“What a Summer you’ve both had.” Marius beamed. “And this uh… this Crawlspace, the wreckage is still there?”

“In a sense.” Dipper smiled, looking distinctly tired as he swilled the Crystal Pitt in his glass and hiccuped.

“I’d like to see it some day. It sounds very impressive.” The teenage epaulet manufacturing magnate added. 

“It’s an impressive wreck.” Pacifica chuckled, taking another swig and leaning against Dipper with her arm around his neck. The sugar rush had set in and she was having a bit of trouble keeping balance. “I guess if rubble is your thing.”

“My family has a lot of interest in architecture.” Marius smiled, rubbing his fingernails clean on his jacket. “I’d love to see the place.”

“Well, I guess we could arrange it.” Pacifica shrugged, glancing at her boyfriend.

Dipper twisted his lip. Something stank, and, at least this time, it wasn’t him sweating.


	4. The Late Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

It was getting late.

9PM, and the two sugar-stupored teenagers knew it was time they were texting Stan to pick them up. Or, as was more likely, texting Soos so he could wake the Grunkle up from the armchair. 

“Should I text him now?” Pacifica finally asked, leaning against Dipper. “I mean, he didn’t tell us when we needed to come home, right?”

The Club was now largely empty, though in the comfort of their quiet, private booth, Grenda, Marius, Pacifica and Dipper would have barely recognised it. They were almost perfectly isolated together, unaware of what was going on in the world around them. 

All the same, despite his mind swimming from overconsumption of sugary drinks and unlimited pastries, Dipper knew it was probably time they were taking charge.

He had at least managed not to accidentally cause massive offence to Marius and Grenda. In fact, he didn’t dislike them nearly as much as he had at their first meeting. Further discussion of The Crawlspace had all but petered out, seemingly forgotten at the hands of anecdotes and Pacifica gently teasing him to see how red he’d get. 

As it turned out, Dipper could blush a near exact match to ‘Hydrant Red’ on a paint matching card. Pretty impressive. 

Dipper made an awkward show of his tiredness, stretching and yawning as if they would change into pyjamas the moment they got home. “Yeah, we should probably get moving, guys. This was fun, though.”

“WE SHOULD DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME!” Grenda replied. “I WANNA KNOW MORE ABOUT THE SHADOWGUY!” 

Dipper swigged the last of his Crystal Pitt with gusto, leaning back into the plush, velvet chair in an effort to look cool and casual. “Y’know, sometimes it’s best to not know all about this stuff. It gets pre-e-etty hairy.”

Pacifica rolled her eyes and smiled. "Yeah, Dip is a regular old Rambo, aren't you?" 

"I Mean, sure. I've seen a lot of crazy stuff-" 

"Sorry, I meant ramb _ler_." She beamed and patted his cheek. "Silly me, right?" 

Dipper chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, taking Pacifica by surprise. “She acts cool, guys, but she’s a complete pussycat.”

“You’d know, you sneeze like a kitten.”

The two laughed at eachother’s gentle ribbing while Marius and Grenda watched with smiles on their faces. 

“YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE!”

“Wonderful to see a member of the Northwest family look so happy.” Marius smiled. “Whenever I’ve seen you in the past, you’ve always looked quite miserable.” 

Pacifica smiled weakly and flicked her hair. “Yeah, I mean, you could say the Pines were the heroes I needed, I guess. It’s felt pretty good living in a family that ‘shares’ and ‘loves’ and actually looks out for eachother. I mean, my Dad wasn’t evil, but our name… our name definitely was. And is. And…” 

“It’s a long story.” Dipper interrupted. “Something for next time, maybe.”

“No, no.” Marius replied. “I’d like to hear more. Our families had a close link. Perhaps there are things I, too, can rectify. I could not bear to hear of such corruption.”

Dipper’s eyebrows lowered even further as, plain as day, with no thought for her boyfriend, _the_ Dipper Pines, sat alongside her. Marius took hold of Pacifica’s hand. Pacifica froze, and gave an uneasy smile as the cravat specialist looked into her eyes sincerely.

“T-that’s very sweet, Marius, but honestly, we gotta get going. Maybe next time.” 

“I understand. But please, do not treat us as strangers. We are your natural peers, no? The charming eccentrics and the exotic, wealthy members of the ruling class.” 

Dipper glanced at Grenda and frowned. _She_ was _his_ peer? That was freaky. It also didn’t come off as particularly flattering. As a matter of fact, he wondered how Grenda would react to such a hollow, vapid comment-

Grenda giggled and wrapped her arms around Marius’s waist in a tight, clenching bear hug, pulling him off of his feet. “I LOVE IT WHEN HE CALLS ME THESE FANCY NICKNAMES! HE’S SO CUTE!”

-Never mind. 

The two groups, at last, separated, with Dipper and Pacifica returning to their tables to grab what little things they had brought with them. 

“If he ever touched your hand like that again-”

“Dipper, that’s just normal for guys like him. He was only being polite.”

“I can be polite. If that’s true, I’ll say sorry after I beat his perfect white teeth into his mouth-”

“Dipper! Snap out of it! It doesn’t mean anything-”

“And likening me to Grenda?! The guy’s a jerk!”

“He’s just a bit… odd, that’s all. The guy’s been alone most of his life except for housekeepers, I suppose it’s just… how he thinks social stuff is. Besides, he loves Grenda. Wouldn’t that be a compliment?”

“How he thinks social stuff is? You spent a lot of time alone too, you didn’t start holding hands with the first people you met!”

“That’s not the same.” Pacifica snorted.

“Right, right. I’m sorry. I just-”

Dipper immediately disarmed himself. He was in no way hoping to get into an argument. It was perhaps only natural his first instinct would be to keep Pacifica to himself. After all, she was his first- his _only_ girlfriend. 

He didn’t entirely believe Marius was outright bad. He just felt… uneasy. After all, Pacifica was technically bequeathed to him from Birth. The Fundhausers were - potentially, at least - linked in with the grand plans set out by Nathaniel Northwest. 

For someone who - in his mind - was every bit more attractive, more successful, to take Pacifica’s hand, offer to listen, look into her eyes…That sorta stuff - especially as Pacifica’s partner - rankled him. His suspicions were immediately raised. Dipper was smart enough to know he didn’t have to explain his protests.

Pacifica, truth be told, rather liked the idea of Dipper getting a teensy bit mardy about another boy’s attention. As a matter of fact, she was entirely willing to have a little fun with it. She grinned and pinched his cheek endearingly. “Possessive of your Pacifica, huh?”

“Well, I mean… yeah.”

“Trust me hon, I’m pretty happy with you. I just got to see you eat oysters.”

“I trust you. I don’t trust guys like him.” 

The Northwest heir giggled and grabbed his shoulders. “Relax sometime, Dipper. It won’t hurt to just...chill out, once in a while.” 

“I’m trying, Pacifica. This is just weird for me, y’know?” 

“I get it. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s super cool that you tried.” 

It was then that an uplighter lamp fell, seemingly of its own volition, landing with a crash to the eye-assaulting floor, frosted glass scattering across the tiles before their feet.

“What the?!”

And another. 

Followed by a series of quiet curse words that are a little too strong for print. 

To Dipper’s surprise, what resembled a tiny little man in a trilby ran by the narrow opening that took the place of a door in The Club’s strange rooms - carrying a plate of freshly baked Pain Au Chocolat. He was roughly shaven, wearing a sharp teddy boy suit, his fedora sitting full over his forehead, almost obscuring his eyes. 

Dipper turned to Pacifica and blinked. 

Pacifica saw it too and was staring with her mouth agape. In retrospect, she wasn’t entirely sure why she still found this stuff bizarre in Gravity Falls. But he was there, alright. A little man with a cigarette in one of those old-timey black cigarette holders - less than half Dipper’s height. 

At first glance, one would be forgiven for mistaking the little man as a gnome - but he was slightly larger, slightly more chiselled in the jaw - much more human in appearance. Perhaps even much more scary. 

After all, the diminutive little figure was not ambling about or scurrying like a gnome - he was stomping with his shoulders back, storming with purpose, carrying a switchblade, of all things. 

  
  


They stepped out and peeked around the curtain, only to find the little man threatening a portly gent with a pencil moustache, in a black pinstriped suit. Pacifica almost immediately recognised him as the manager. Not least due to the pin badge on his lapel that clearly stated ‘manager’.

The manager of the place was the sort of man who seemed to have no neck and enough face for three people - a tiny monocle perched in his eye socket and a ridiculous amount of oil used in his hair, with a bright red rose in his lapel. He could have probably crushed the little man with a single step if he was so inclined. 

He looked down at his intimidator with a stiff upper lip. His harasser was particularly vicious, vulgar and aggressive - threatening the restaurant’s manager by repeatedly brandishing the battered old switchblade.

“If ya don’t wanna get dis knife inta yer throat, ya keep da pastries comin’, capiche?” 

“We need to be a little more subtle with-”

“EY, EY, EY! Ah’m _tawkin_ ’ here! I don’t need no backchat. You contribute to da business, you keep our business! Ya fish-eyed freak’a’nature!” 

“Fine, fine, fine - look, if you’d care to exit via the cellar, we still have customers on property.”

“Ya keep it schtum or ya go for a long walk offa da short side a’da carpark, ya understand?”

“Of course.” The man replied, sweat dripping down his brow - now, at least, no longer showing as much of a stiff upper lip.

The tiny man raised one of his dainty little fists as he walked between the manager’s legs, into the dumb waiter that sat nestled inside one of the few visible patches of wall in the building, and slowly wheeled down - disappearing into the depths of The Club. 

The manager wiped his brow with a handkerchief and took a deep breath, closing the secret hatch and adjusting his collar. 

It was then that he noticed Dipper and Pacifica standing there with eyebrows raised. 

“Oh heavens.”

“Oh heavens is right.” Dipper replied. 

“A _travesty_. You think that _cravat_ matches that _dinner jacket_? Grief.”

Dipper huffed and clenched his fists while Pacifica tried to hold in her giggling.

“I suppose…” the large man with the moustache added, “That you saw my uh… ‘little’ associate, eh? You’re the uh, the Mystery boy, correct?”

Dipper immediately disliked the man. Not quite as much as he disliked the title ‘mystery boy’, but enough to make him suitably irritated. 

“And Pacifica Northwest, of course. How are you, miss Northwest? Is the boy here as a servant, or-”

“He’s my boyfriend.” Pacifica replied, matter-of-factly. “And, right now, a customer.”

The manager looked down at him and twisted his lip. “I see. Well, I shouldn’t have you trouble my associates, thank you. They’re close friends.”

“They didn’t seem like close friends to me.” Dipper smirked. “He threatened you with a knife.”

“It’s an uh- inside joke.” The large man trailed off and wiped his nervous brow as the two teens glared up at him, clearly unconvinced with his tall tale. He adjusted his bow tie and coughed into his hand. “I have a business deal with them. I cannot say they are illegitimate businessmen, but uh…” 

“Just tell us what they are, man!” Dipper snapped. 

“Clurichauns.” The man finally submitted. “They’re a mob of Clurichauns.” 

Pacifica was, naturally, unconvinced. “Cluri-what?”

“That’s all I’m telling you. Now please uh- the meal is on me. Just keep it quiet, eh? You didn’t hear any of this from me, you didn’t see me get threatened and you didn’t see me drink an entire pot of red wine gravy.” 

The middle aged man waddled away hurriedly, his feet clacking on the porcelain tiled floor as he disappeared behind one of the red velvet curtains - leaving the two kids stood alone in a now empty, silent corridor. 

Dipper and Pacifica decided, there and then, it was time to text Grunkle Stan.

Or Soos.

Probably Soos. 

After finding the exit, at least.


	5. Cluri-what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Finding the exit took an embarrassingly long time. The club was now all but deserted - a silent, empty hulk of formless rooms, directionless corridors and confusingly identical spaces. Considering the building itself seemed relatively small from outside, it was a source of more than a few headaches.

By the time they had found their way out, Soos was already asleep in his pickup truck, still wearing his Mystery Shack uniform and listening to the latest three-times-platinum-remix of _Straight Blanchin_ ’.

The two kids climbed into the car and immediately realised they’d be going nowhere soon. Soos’s power naps were legendary - a modicum of rest that was unchallenged - undefeated. Nobody could sleep as well as Soos. It just didn’t happen. 

Dipper tried nudging him, tried turning off the stereo ( _which, as it turned out, couldn’t be turned off_ ) and even tried shouting ‘Let’s go get ice cream!’ - but nothing worked. 

“Man, why did he have to be asleep?” Dipper sighed.

“Hang on.” Pacifica smiled, rifling around in her purse. “Any idea what pastries he likes?”

“He’s Soos. His favourite pastry is more of them.”

“Great. Try this one.” Pacifica beamed, pulling one of The Club’s $30 eclairs from her bag. “I got everyone some desserts, seeing as they missed out on the meal.” 

“...How did you even keep them-”

“Ice packs and clingfilm. What, you think it was full of makeup and junk?”

“Well, kinda-”

“Jeez, I’m not completely vapid.” She replied with a smirk, as she tucked a napkin into Soos’s collar and wafted the eclair under his nose. “These things are like swiss army knives, Dipper. You should get a man bag or something.”

Soos woke up almost immediately and took the eclair as if he had been awaiting it the entire evening. “Oh, hey dudes. Have a good night?”

“Yeah, it was great.” Pacifica sighed happily and rested against Dipper. “How was your night, Soos?”

“I had a revelation. Did you guys know you can eat cheetos in the bathtub? Abuelita always used to tell me I shouldn’t - but legit, I did tonight and _nobody_ stopped me. Mind equals _blown_.”

Dipper and Pacifica were amused, albeit not entirely impressed. 

“You both look a little shaken up, dudes.”

“Watch the road instead of us, Soos.”

“Yeah bro, but like, what’s going on?”

“Ever heard of a Clurichaun?” 

Soos took his hands off of the steering wheel and counted on his fingers. “I’ve heard of a unicorn, a leprechaun, corn on the cob and popcorn. Not heard of a Clurichaun. Is that one of those fancy rich person sodas?”

“ _Soos_!!”

The car screeched as Soos’s hands shot back to the wheel and steered out of the way of a passing Buick. “Sorry, dudes. What flavour’s the soda? We talkin’, like, a cherry cream pie, root beer…”

“It’s a little man.” 

Soos flinched as he considered the idea of two young teens drinking _man soda._ “Dudes, I mean, I’ve had experimental phases in _college_ and stuff-”

“Soos, it isn’t a drink. It’s a weird little man who we saw threatening the manager of the place..”

“In a trilby and a suit.” Pacifica added. “Spoke like an old-timey gangster, too.”

“You sure it wasn’t a leprechaun? Those little dudes are hilarious. They love their breakfast cereal - always stuffing them with marshmallows. I thought I met one once, but it turned out to be Gideon. Fun times.” Soos tried to hold in his laughter as he joyfully reminisced about his experiences regarding Leprechauns. 

The two kids were beginning to have trouble keeping track of his trains of thought and decided it was best to let their chauffeur talk himself out for a little bit. 

Pacifica leaned in to Dipper, causing him to blush as her lips came closer and close to his ear. Was she going to kiss him? Whisper something? Perhaps cuddle up under the soft, orange hue of the street lamps-

“Did Soos seriously go to college?”

Or that. Or ask that. He guessed. Dipper huffed as he replied, trying to ignore the goosebumps running up his arms and the lump in his throat. “I mean, he knows a lot about computers. I guess maybe a community college or-”

“ _Man_.” Came the - justifiably bewildered - reply. 

“Y’know dudes, if you were really wanting to work out some crazy stuff, you’d probably ditch the journals and look at the notebook with the tree goose in. I bet your tiny gangster man is in there.”

Dipper blinked. “You knew about Ford’s other research?”

“I’m, like, a janitor as well as Mr. Mystery. I know just about everything underneath that shack now, bro. I use Stanford’s satellite doohickies to get pirate TV. You heard about what they’ve got in Malaysia? It’s off the hook. Something called Betamaxdome or somethin’.” 

“Huh. Well, you might be right.” Dipper smiled. “Thanks, Soos.”

“No problem dude. You need a gofer to help, Soos is your man, dawg.”

“We’ll keep that mind.”

**_Thump!_ **

Soos’s pickup truck arrived at the shack perhaps a little too quickly - owing the driver consuming a hearty chomp of chocolate eclair - and managed to knock down the crude wooden shelter built over the platform for the miniature railroad that sat alongside the shack. 

“Soos! Jeez!”

“Sorry, dudes. You both get inside, I’ll get this uh… I’ll get this cleared up.” 

“Do you need the toolbox?”

Soos was referring to the mess of chocolate and cream now splattered across his person, and looked very confused at the recommendation. Dipper just thanked him for the lift and returned to the Shack with his girlfriend’s hand in his. 

“Soos is gonna kill someone with that truck someday.” Pacifica mumbled.

“I think Grunkle Stan taught him everything he knows.”

“Yeah, I could buy that.”

Dipper and Pacifica were used to being greeted by scenes of chaos when they walked into the shack, but with the latest advent of Mabel getting very serious - very quickly - with Kevin Corduroy, it was becoming increasingly uncertain.

After all, the more chipper Pine twin was definitely not built to respect or understand boundaries; and definitely wasn’t equipped to ‘take it steady’. She clearly viewed Kevin as her major prospect for the future; her Pacifica, in essence.

Except with an axe, broad shoulders, a missing tooth and a pompadour. 

Takes all sorts.

This time, the two walked in on Mabel giving Kevin a makeover at the little table in the living room, while Stan slept peacefully in his armchair. Or Ford’s armchair. At this point, Pacifica wasn’t entirely sure which was which. 

“Hey guys.” Kevin smiled weakly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Mabel beamed, adding some more nail polish to his hands. “I kept telling him how pretty he was. Now he can be as beautiful as his hair!”

“S-she really likes my hair.” Kevin grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I really like _you_ , sweetcheeks.” Mabel replied, rubbing her nose against his. “And dontcha forget it!”

The Corduroy boy chuckled and gave Mabel a hug with a wide smile - though it quickly disappeared with the addition of more bright pink foundation. “Not that I’m not enjoying makeover night, Mabel, but don’t you think it’s maybe worth, y’know, stopping for now?” 

“Soon.”

“This is easy to get off, right?”

“Definitely. Absolutely. Nobody will ever know.” Mabel replied hurriedly, crossing her fingers behind her back. “Do you want me to pierce your ears?”

Dipper and Pacifica decided it best to leave the room - lest they be spectators to a disaster - and go down into Ford’s laboratory to ask him about the creatures they had stumbled upon. Or steal his notepad. Either would work.


	6. The Expert's Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Ford was hard at work, as per usual, sketching out schematics for the Stan O’War - or rather, working out how a two person boat could be safely and effectively extended to involve accommodation for their latest adopted family member. 

He had, by now, made the firm decision in advance that Pacifica would be joining them at sea, perhaps showing his almost habitual lack of forethought, drawing and redrawing schematics to try and provide the optimum comfort, privacy and internet connection so he could, at least, keep her in contact with normality. 

Normality being Dipper.

It was a  _ vague  _ concept of normality, certainly, but it was  _ functional  _ \- and that was  _ something. _

It probably didn’t help that Stanford had now gone for two days without sleep, trying to work out if the ship would be better off as a catamaran, how much it’d cost and how easy it would be to get McGucket to help out. He hadn’t even considered asking Stanley yet. 

“Can I help you both?” He asked, his back still turned and hard at work redrawing. 

“We found something.” Dipper replied. “Something we’ve not seen before.”

“Your Grunkle Stanley with a clean shave?” He grinned. “Just kidding. An anomaly, not a miracle, I take it.”

The two kids exchanged a glance. 

“No? Nothing? I’m wasted in this job.” He chuckled. “Go on, Dipper - what’s the story?”

The two kids were swiftly served two mugs of cocoa as Stanford sat back in his chair, a half empty bag of jelly beans well within his reach. He sipped his black coffee contently as the young couple went through their experiences at the club, his expression remaining stoney and difficult to read. 

When they had completed their little tale, he took a few moments to think - before finishing his coffee and rubbing his chin. “A clurichaun, eh? You’re sure that’s what he said?”

“Clear as day.” Dipper shrugged. “We’ve never-”

“Your Grunkle Stanley and I have both met a Clurichaun. Met him in Ireland, stealing food and drink from a pub. They’re similar to leprechauns, but I’ve never heard them operate with  _ that  _ kind of behaviour. They’re usually at least somewhat amiable.” 

“So they just… steal food?” Pacifica replied. “Like Soos?”

Ford chuckled. “Not quite. Clurichauns are meant to attach themselves to a family of publicans. They sit in the basement, keeping rats at bay, expecting food and drink for their trouble. If they aren’t respected, they’ll steal it. They can be ravenous things, too.” 

“I mean, the one we met was more like a mobster than an Irish rat catcher. I’m, like, not sure how many Irish gnome...things wore trilbies and carried knives.” 

Ford sat back slightly further in his chair, tenting his fingers together as he considered the idea. He was clearly fascinated with the prospect, if disbelieving of the concept. 

He tapped his index fingers together. Pacifica couldn’t help the thought crossing her mind as to which _was_ his index finger. Did he have an extra digit to the left or right? 

“I suppose it’s not  _ impossible  _ for them to get into organised crime. But it’d be very… unique behaviour. I’ve not heard of such a thing before. What else did he look like?”

“Just a… little man, with a five o’clock shadow. His hair and eyes were covered, though.” Dipper drew a crude little sketch. “Sorta like this.” 

Pacifica watched Dipper draw with a little smile. She was always kind of impressed by his artistic ability. She was pretty good at Calligraphy, she guessed, but she wasn’t sure she’d be so capable of drawing something from memory. 

Mind, Mabel was the real art and craft champion of their little family. ...Just not with makeup. Poor Kevin. 

Stanford raised an eyebrow. “Looks more like something from 1920s Chicago than Ireland. You’re sure?”

“Certain.” Dipper nodded - trying his best to look authoritative while flushing from his girlfriend’s attention. 

“Hm. And he went into the basement of the uh… restaurant?”

“Straight down. At least, we’d guess so.” Pacifica shrugged. “Dunno what else could be under there.” 

“I’m not sure what to suggest.” Ford replied, simply. “It’s probably worth just trying to track them, see if there’s more incidents. For now, it’s not like The Club are running short on money. It’s extortionate just to park outside the place.”

For the Northwest heir, that seemed somewhat unthinkable. “What, you want us to just leave it? The guy’s obviously in trouble.” 

“He’s also a member of the financial elite. A group of crooks.” 

“So was I, remember.” Came the sharp reply, with a flick of the hair. “It doesn’t mean he deserves to be threatened by a gnome with a pocket knife. Come on, guys, we have an opportunity to-”

Ford poured himself another cup of coffee and smiled. “You’re a pair of born heroes; that’s for sure. If you want to help the manager of The Club, I certainly can’t stop you.”

Pacifica felt pretty proud of herself. “Do these little guys, like, get together in groups and stuff?”

“Not normally.” Ford replied, adding an extra spoon of coffee to his cup. “They’re meant to be solitary. But again, I doubt it’s entirely out of the question. There’s a chance it’s a whole new species.” 

Pacifica and Dipper both had to confess they had never even thought about cryptids and anomalies having different species. Of course, it made sense, but you never heard of a non-Irish variation of a leprechaun, or a non-manly manotaur, or…

You get the idea.

The two agreed. If there was a Clurichaun problem in Gravity Falls, they were the perfect - ney, the  _ only  _ people - who could help sort it out for the townspeople they loved so dearly. It was decided without them exchanging a word.

Tomorrow would involve the two of them searching for the Clurichauns. And maybe going for pancakes and a soda at Greasy’s.


	7. A quick interstital for the fun of it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fancy.


	8. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

While the kids weren’t exactly doing great at keeping a sleep schedule - Lord knows the mystery hunting side of the family did little to assist in that part of everyday life - the Grunkles still maintained a fairly strict rule of the increasingly pubescent teenagers sleeping in separate rooms. Or staying awake private messaging each other in separate rooms. 

They had agreed to let Kevin stay over, not least so Ford could disinfect his new ear piercing.

For Dipper, the separate bedroom rule was. if anything, a small mercy. He was still suffering repeated nightmares since their last encounter with Bill Cipher - and he had a feeling they were the extremely embarrassing sort that involved him talking in his sleep, twitching and sweating buckets. 

Not particularly glamorous.

He wasn’t sure at this point if he was haunted by what had happened last year, what had happened at Northwest manor, or if something was messing around with his mind from afar - he only knew he hated it.

Every night, those grasping, shadowy hands would attempt to encroach him, every night he would be facing off with his own doubts and anger, images of Bill, of Curzon, of the Axolotl - he just couldn’t shake them. How much was a teenager meant to put up with?

At this point, he was convinced there was no escape from how damned  _ scared  _ he felt all of the time. 

Dipper was used to not sleeping - it had been a problem since he was trying to unlock Fiddleford’s laptop, and had never gotten any easier. His eyes had darkened as much as he’d grown taller. Not that he had grown  _ that  _ much taller. But this summer it was growing even more chronic. 

His mind was flooding constantly. When it wasn’t anxiety, it was self-doubt. When it wasn’t self-doubt, it was fear that Summer was coming to a close and he’d have to go back to ‘normal’ life once again. Normality wasn’t his deal, he was absolutely convinced of it now. Not if that normality didn’t include Pacifica.

He tapped his fingers together nervously and looked down at his cravat and dinner jacket he was still wearing. Was it really that much of a colour clash? Red and yellow couldn’t be that bad. They used it for fire trucks. Y’know, that could be kinda funny. He could argue it was because she was hot. Right? Yeah, he could spin it like that. 

Was that going too far?

R-right, right, that was going too far. Don’t be an idiot, Dipper. 

_ Man, being a teenager was difficult.  _

He picked up his phone and did what he always did when something was bothering him. He texted Mabel. 

**Dipper: You awake?**

**Mabel: Yeah, are you?**

**Dipper: Obviously**

**Mabel: Thinking of Paz are we? ;)**

**Dipper: You can’t talk! Kevin running around your head?**

**Mabel: Sorta. What’s up?**

**Dipper: Things are getting weird.**

**Mabel: I’ll be right down. Gotta be quiet though, she’s a light sleeper.**

Dipper sighed and laid back with a little bit of relief. At least he’d be able to have a discreet chat about what he was going through. Save the gross boy things that he kept bottled up.

_ THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP  _

Mabel, admittedly, wasn’t the most discreet when it came to going downstairs, but if her brother was in trouble, she was more than willing to drop absolutely everything to help out. Even if it did mean tiptoeing through the Shack’s living room so as not to wake Kevin up.

Dipper knew how lucky he was to have her, not least as she had a habit of reminding him constantly. It did mean a lot to have a bit of a more neutral party - someone not so stuck into ‘psychotically anxious and obsessed with impressing people’.

The rather over-enthusiastic Pines twin also tended to bring gummi koalas with her. That tended to help.

“You okay?” She whispered obliviously as she opened the door. “That sounded pretty serious.”

“Yeah, I just - look, come in, sit down or something alright?”

“Man, your room stinks.”

“Shut up. Yours smells like super-strong-super-sweet-fake-candy-bubblegum… stuff, most of the time.”

“Exactly, while yours  _ stinks _ .” Mabel grinned as she sat on the bed and dished out her emergency candy selection. “Did the date go okay?”

“Sure, sure, it was... It was amazing.” Dipper smiled, rubbing his arm awkwardly. “Like, really great.”

“You didn’t wear that, did you? Man, that cravat and jacket-”

Dipper interrupted her quickly. He was a bit sick of his colour choices being criticised. “Mabel, I’m having nightmares. About Bill. About the Axolotl. About… me.”

Mabel thought for a moment as she swung her feet back and forth. “I’m not a psychologist, bro, but I think the you bit is just you feeling scared about… everything. Like dating a girl from a total family of zillionaires with some kinda big conspiracy in the middle of it.” 

“I sorta got that.”

“La dee da, Mister big brain. Got any other big ideas in that big brain of yours?”

“I think that both Bill and Axolotl are like, trying to contact me.” 

“Dipper, Bill’s kinda stuck in a statue without any arms. With Curzon. I don’t think Bill has much of a way out of there without his portal, y’know?”

“Dreams are his thing, though. Maybe I have, like, some kinda psychic link or something. Y’know, since the whole… Bipper thing.”

“Sure, I guess that makes sense. But the big floaty sky salamander? Do you  _ really  _ think the big Axolotl dude is going to care much about us? Isn’t he, like, a God? As in the guy who imprisoned Bill in the first place?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Just sayin’, Dipper, I don’t think we’ve got much in his big plan. He’s probably doing Axolotl things. Or she. I bet she’s a she.”

Dipper huffed. “I hope you’re right. I kinda wanna drop this interdimensional stuff and just stick with home weirdness, y’know?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, furrowing her brow as she considered the concept. “Y-yeah, I get that.”

Things fell quiet. 

“Still worrying about the end of summer?” She ventured, quietly. 

“Yeah. Big time.”

“Yeah, uh… me too.” She chuckled nervously. She was all too aware she’d been a little rough about it with Dipper - now that she was slamming into her own romance, she was beginning to worry about much the same thing. She didn’t want Kevin to be ‘just for summer’. “I guess we’re both kinda getting more attached to Gravity Falls than ever, huh?”

“You could say that.” Dipper huffed. “It’s pretty frustrating that we can’t just move here.”

“Don’t think mom and dad would listen?”

“Why would they wanna move to some town out in the sticks, Mabel? As far as they know, nothing happens here.” 

Mabel bit her lip. “I feel like Waddles prefers it here, too.” 

“It’s life, I guess. We just gotta keep… growing up and moving on. Even if Pacifica does end up being hundreds of miles away.” 

“You know she’s not gonna leave you. Like, she might be further away, but she likes you, Dip.”

“Well, same for you and Kevin. I mean, he let you pierce his ears-”

“Hey, I did my own!”

“You had to go to the emergency room.”

“I still did it, though. Besides, he’s super tough.” Mabel spoke in a bit of a sing-song voice. Kinda like someone in a romantic film going over the biggest romantic experience of her life. As if sticking a safety pin through Kevin’s earlobe was her equivalent of Casablanca. 

Dipper smiled and rustled through the candy stash, but it soon faded. Should he say something? He decided to say something. “I think Marius is into Pacifica.”

“W-what?!”

“We met him and Grenda at the club. He was asking about her family, about The Crawlspace, he held her hand…”

“Nu-uh, no way Dip. Marius loves Grenda like crazy. No way he’d be looking elsewhere.”

“I think he’s after something. I think the  _ Fundhausers  _ are up to something. He was unusually interested in the Crawlspace. And then it only got weirder when we saw the Clurichaun.”

Mabel cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you have more than nightmares to explain, Dipper. Spill the tea! I’ll go get some more candy!”

Dipper chuckled. In truth, there was part of him that always veered towards keeping his sister safe - and out of the darker side of the town’s mysteries. All the same, there was no doubting Mabel’s knack for these things. He rubbed the back of his neck as he waited for his eager sister to return to his room, laden with snacks and her favourite notebook. At least, her latest favourite.

She soon returned (her favourite notebook this week included a cat with rainbow-laser-eyes) and sat down eagerly with her legs crossed. “Shoot, detective dork-pants!”

“Alright, alright. So- wait, what did you just call me?”


	9. The Hundred Buck Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

“Yeesh, Slick. You look like a wreck.” Stan raised an eyebrow towards his great-nephew as he strode towards the piles of freeze-dried coffee cans. “You been hit by a truck or something?”

Dipper blinked sleepily. “Just a busy night.”

“Sixer brought up the whole lepre-drunk thing. Crazy stuff. I think I’ve still got the phone number of the one we met in Ireland if you need it. Man, he was even more trashed than your complexion. Ha!”

Dipper huffed.

“Cheer up, kid. Might never happen.” Stan added as he sat down on the other side of the kitchen table, sliding a mug of coffee to the kid with his lip twisted. “What’s going through that big ol’head of yours?”

“Nightmares.”

Stan nodded understandingly. “What’s his face, right? Bill Psycho or whatever?”

“You get ‘em too?”

“For all I knew kid, he was still rattlin’ around in there until we met him in Blondie’s basement. Ford still gets ‘em. I bet everyone in this damned town probably gets nightmares about the freak.”

Dipper sipped the coffee and grimaced. He still wasn’t sure how anyone managed to drink the stuff out of anything other than desperation. “There has to be some way to beat it, right?”

“Dipper, come on. There’s only so many ways to forget something.” Stan replied, beginning to count on his fingers.”McGucket’s memory gun, booze or spending your life eating way too much sugar. ‘Sprobably how your sister stays so happy.”

Dipper sighed and held his head. “I just hope it’s only nightmares, Stan… I don’t wanna even consider what else could happen.”

“Hey, if Bill tries to get back out there, we’ll be the first to know, kid.”

Dipper sighed. That’s what he was kind of worried about. He quietly went over his thoughts while Stan sipped his coffee and considered what to say. Compassion wasn’t his strong point at the best of times, and man-to-man talk? Abysmal.

He stood up and held Dipper’s shoulder firmly, still sipping his coffee. Dipper looked up at him with those tired, worry-stricken eyes. 

The old man cleared his throat awkwardly, still stumbling somewhat on communicating with the teenager in a way that didn’t involve a good-natured ribbing. “Try not worrying about everything for once, huh? You’ve got a good brain on your shoulders, you’re standing up for yourself, got a damned good girl in your life... You’ve got it made right now. Enjoy it.”

“I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Kid, Clurichauns are basically harmless little weirdos who drink dark beer and fight squirrels. This one might have a knife but he’s probably too hammered to use the thing. Don’t dwell on it.”

Dipper took a deep breath, considering going over everything else that was going in his head, but decided it best to avoid it. “Y-yeah, you’re probably right, Grunkle Stan.” 

Stan smiled and gave him a slap on the back. “Besides, the landlord we met said that they were addicted to bread as much as they were beer. Somethin’ about yeast. What sort of dangerous creature could be addicted to bread? I mean, what, you throw them a wonderloaf and they shut up for a week? It’s about as threatening as raisins in a muffin.” 

Dipper raised an eyebrow, grabbed his journal and noted it down. “That’s pretty useful!”

“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face and business genius, kid.” The old man replied with a grin. “I do listen to this stuff sometimes.”

The two exchanged a smile, only for Kevin to walk into the kitchen, ear still covered in a sticking plaster. “Hey, guys.”

Considering what he had been through over the evening, Kevin was remarkably calm and confident. Dipper reasoned it was the nature of a Corduroy to come off either incredibly aggressive or incredibly cool under pressure.

He kind of envied how confident Kevin was with an unfamiliar environment. It was like an entire world apart from Dipper’s own behaviour with… well, anything. 

“How’s the ear?” Stan asked, crouching down somewhat to Kevin’s height. “Ya doin’ alright?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I can take it.” Kevin smiled, still combing his impressive quiff. “She’s a riot.”

“Mabel’s about as chaotic as they come, slick.” Stan grinned. “She’ll run rings around ya if you’re not careful.” 

“I think if anyone could handle her, it’s a Corduroy.” Kevin grinned. “She’s amazing.”

“Ha, at this rate we’ll be fightin’ to get the kids back to Piedmont!” Stan cackled. “Man. I hope you’ve got her phone number, her fax, and uh-... whatever else the kids use.”

“It’s definitely going to be hard after Summer.” Dipper sighed over his coffee cup.

Kevin and Stan both looked at him. 

“You uh… you alright, Dipper?”

“I’m just… it sucks that we have to leave.”

Stan tugged on his collar nervously. “Hey, uh, you kids will still stay in touch, alright? I get it’s a bit rough, but absent hearts grow fonder and all that, y’know?” 

“Hey, maybe we could come and visit.” Kevin piped in and patted Dipper’s back reassuringly. “I’m sure Pacifica wouldn’t mind riding with the Corduroys uh… too much, right? Y’know, it could be a weekend thing.” 

“Y-yeah, exactly.” Stan grinned, deciding not to point out the fact she might be going well away from Oregon, and out to the open seas. “These days your generation are never too far apart, right?”

“Yeah, I… I guess.” Dipper smiled, weakly. “What are you guys up to today?”

Stan grinned, holding his lapels like a proud gentleman. “We’re getting to work on buyin’ junk for the boat. Also got some contractors comin’ out to look at Soos’s choo-choo train.”

“Takin’ Mabel out on a date to the art and crafts shop. Rumour has it they’ve now got the state’s biggest collection of glitter.”

“Dude, it’s like you’ve known her forever.” Dipper chuckled. 

“Ah, that uh- that reminds me,” Stan said through gritted teeth. “Uh, Ford told me to uh- give ya both a bit of cash, y’know, keep ya both busy today. Maybe it’ll cheer you up a bit, kid.” 

Dipper blinked as, right there, before his eyes, Stan reached into his remarkably plump wallet and pulled out some crisp bills, handing a hundred dollars to each of them. He didn’t even cry as he did it. He just… did it. 

“What’s the catch?” Dipper wrinkled his nose as he looked at the note, as if he was expecting it to be a forgery. He was used to Stan flashing the fact he now had cash, but he wasn’t used to him giving it away to them. Especially not in such amounts. Especially not after the meal at The Club. 

It was weird as all hell to him. 

“No catch, kid, just get outta here before I change my mind.” 

Dipper grinned while Kevin’s jaw hung open, like just been handed the most beautiful, hand-carved axe he had ever seen. It was quite a revelation to a relatively rustic country boy to face that kind of cash. It wasn’t that his family wasn’t doing fairly well or anything - it was just that a woodsman and his locale tended to work via favours. 

He looked up at Stan, then back at Dipper, not entirely sure what to say. 

It was almost on cue that Mabel and Pacifica barrelled enthusiastically down the stairs, ready to take their boyfriends by the arm into the big, crazy world outside. 

“You guys ready?” Pacifica smiled, confidently - grinning widely as Dipper began his usual act of flushing at the sight of her. Not that it was much of an act. 

“Born ready.” Kevin grinned as he threw an arm around Mabels’ waist, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles. “You won’t believe what your Grunkle Ford has given us!”

“Yeah, yeah - Grunkle Ford.” Dipper smirked knowingly, looking back to Stanley as they walked out of the room. 

Stan smiled and stirred his coffee, adding his essential extra spoonful of sugar, calmed by the quiet solitude as he went over the little quandary that seemed to be haunting the lot of them - the idea of ‘after Summer’.

He knew Pacifica and Kevin were good kids for the pair. Hell, he didn’t have any doubt they’d try to make things work, but it still worried him, especially if Pacifica was going to be joining the two grunkles out at sea. Kevin had the luxury of a comfortable family. Pacifica had the option of being taken over by someone in town, going out to the wide open ocean on a dangerous mission against the world’s freakiest creatures... or going back to her folks. 

The folks who had apparently been harbouring a freakin’ church to the triangle he had punched in the eye.

Y’know, when you look at it that way, it sounded pretty damned strange. 

Somehow the ocean seemed a safer option to his mind. He was confident in their ability to keep her safe. He just wasn’t confident in being the person to take Pacifica so far away from the kid. Was keeping the girl safe going to make him the best Grunkle ever, or the absolute worst? Man, this guardian stuff was _complicated_.

It was twenty minutes later when his brother came in, fresh from his morning walk through the woods - looking particularly confused. 

“Stanley, why did the kids just try to hug the life out of me?” Ford chuckled, pouring himself the last of the coffee. “They just came stampeding up the road. Practically broke one of my ribs.”

“Keep it quiet, Sixer. Ya can’t put a price on that kinda cred.”


	10. Destruction L’Aquatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The groups soon separated into their own pairs, Mabel and Kevin eagerly making their way to the arts and craft store with the money burning in their pockets.

For Dipper and Pacifica, it was a much slower, more talkative stroll into town. 

“You look tired, Dipper.” She started, simply. 

“Heh, _thanks_.”

She grinned and elbowed him in the ribs. “You know what I mean, jerk! Things on your mind?”

“You could say that.”

“Marius?”

“Yeah, y-you could say that.” 

“You’re silly. Try and get it out of your mind, we’ve got weird Irish gnomes to catch.”

“I know, I kn-WOAH!”

They both jumped back from the sidewalk in shock. Sirens blared as the community firetruck - a battered old thing that rattled like a steam engine and smelt like a gasoline explosion waiting to happen - roared past them at full pace, Toby Determined clinging to one at the ladders on the rear of the tumbledown vehicle. 

“Fiii-ii-iiire! Razzle Dazzle! This is the real thing!” He screamed excitedly, his strange, twiddly little face whiskers flying erratically as the fire engine almost vaulted onto its side around a corner.

The two kids glanced at each other and chased after the careening truck. “Fire?! Where?!”

“Where there’s the maaaassive plume of smoooooke! This will be the most exciting newspaper everrrr!"

The couple screeched to a halt and looked up in shock at the enormous tower of acrid fumes, flying up in great, billowing clouds towards the sky, darkening the sun as it beat down over the sleepy Oregon town.

"Yeah, okay. We shoulda probably seen that." Dipper admitted.

Sirens screamed from every direction, mass commotion sounding out from the enormous crowds that had gathered at the roaring inferno. It was an enormous fire, big enough to engulf half of the town in thick, choking smoke, raining down cinders and soot like burning snow. 

The sky itself seemed to be darkening into a fiery, dusky yellow, orange flame and scalding soot dissipating the sunlight into a hazy glow that felt foreign and dry. The town was erupting into chaos. It wasn’t every day that there was a fire of this scale in the high street; not since the permanent cancellation of the weekly barn burnings. 

The volunteer firefighters clamoured desperately to treat the inferno, but were woefully ill prepared. 

“Whoa, that’s the seafood restaurant, isn’t it?” Dipper asked an awestruck Pacifica as the two approached the boundary line - which Durland was marking on the pavement with chalk. They had used the last of the police tape for last night’s limbo contest. (Blubs won.)

“I mean, to be fair, their food was maybe a 7/10, tops.” His girlfriend snarked, resting her hand on her hip. “And that decor? Tacky as heck.”

“Pacifica!”

“What? I’m talking about the restaurant. I mean, there’s nobody _inside_!”

Right enough, it was only 10AM. Not many people, even in a freaky old place like Gravity Falls, ate seafood for breakfast - and all of the staff were assembled outside, smoking cigarettes and generally looking very uninvested. 

Save for the most dedicated waiter in the entire place. Jean-Luc was on his knees, crying to the great mollusc in the sky. “NON! NON! Mes crevettes bien-aimées! Why, why?! Zey were today’s special!” He sobbed, thumping the floor with his fist. “C'est une tragédie! C'est une tragédie!”

The crowd flinched as the outsized anchor sign on the building fell to the floor with a hollow ** _whump_**. It was clear that the great mollusc in the sky was not particularly interested in the plight of Jean-Luce’s favourite prawns. 

“You uh… think he’s alright?” Dipper asked. “Can you speak French?"

“I’m not even sure if _he_ can speak French.”

The commotion continued as the flames ate and licked their way through the 3.85 star restaurant, tearing down its once splendid appearance and exposing the bare concrete block that lay beneath its facade. 

It wasn’t long before Tyler Cutebiker, town mayor, arrived to oversee the tragic carnage ahead of him - ensure his townspeople were safe, cheer on his community’s finest in his familiar refrain - and to gaze upon those big, strong men in their uniforms. Not specifically in that order. 

He stood nearby Dipper and Pacifica. He convinced himself it was to keep the two safe, but the kids were fairly sure it was in case anything bizarre took place over the course of the fiery disaster that had seemingly gathered most of the town in the vicinity. 

The little man in the short-shorts rubbed his nose with his finger as he watched the operation quietly. It was perhaps thankful that a seafood restaurant had so many fountains and fishtanks - while far less thankful that it was plastered in heavily flammable cheap plastic tat, masquerading as fine nautical art in an unmistakably tacky facade of Poseidon’s underwater palace.

The result was the fire was extinguished fairly quickly, but the building’s interior was practically destroyed - not to mention half-melted, coated in thick layers of bubbling, molten styrofoam and PVC that stank to high heaven. Smouldering, molten rivers of cheap Chinese mermaid props poured into the gutters, permeated only by the flow of water as they continued trying to douse the once affluent restaurant. 

There, in the centre of the building, sat a flame retardant box, locked ticket, with Jean-Luc's name etched into it, charred somewhat and obscured by the remains of a wax lobster, but blatantly planted on the premises. 

The first instincts of the firefighters said that it was a bomb, prompting them to begin trying to break it open, just to be sure. It opened easily enough with the push of a button, revealing a single business card mounted upon a soft, red velvet pillow. 

Jean-Luc was damned near hysterical when it was given to him. He recognised it immediately. "I should have listened. I should have known! Zee agreement! Zee mob!" 

Durland grabbed the card and twisted his lip. "Blubs, this dang thing is in some kinda code! I can't read it! I can't read it!!"

"Naw, you calm your sweet face, Durland." The sheriff reassured him gently, patting his deputy's hand. "It's just cursive. Says something about a Syndicate. You planning on expanding this organisation, Jean-Luc?" 

"Non, non, zis ees a franchise!" 

"He's talking in some kinda code, Blubs! I can't understand it! I can't understand it!!" 

Dipper and Pacifica exchanged a glance as Tyler tried to diffuse the situation, and Blubs tried to calm down his beloved deputy. 

Tyler's body language didn't change much, even faced with the potential of a crime racket. He grinned wide, his hands on his hips as if he was fondly admonishing a kitten. "Now Jean-Luc, what's this about a mob? Have you gotten yourself into some derring-do?" 

"Non, non, I-- uh- I misspoke! Mon Anglais, she suffers when faced with such heartbreak!"

Tyler looked at the business card, then back up at the distraught waiter. He frowned momentarily - then broke back into his familiar grin and waggled his finger. "Well, if you remember anything when you're a little calmer, you let me know. Imma just put this in my pocket."

He, instead, slipped the little card to the two kids behind him, and gave them a subtle wink. Dipper beamed and took it appreciatively. It felt kinda good to be trusted with this stuff. 

The card was an interesting thing alright - handwritten, signed off from this anonymous Syndicate, with a certain… threatening tone to it. 

**_Jean-Luc,_ **

**_You should have listened, you pencil-necked, cucumber nosed freak. Nobody goes back on the deal._ **

**_The Syndicate._ **

Pacifica raised an eyebrow as she looked at it, trying not to garner too much attention to the little piece of contraband. "Watcha thinking?" she whispered. 

"How I could really go for breakfast right now." Dipper replied. "Fancy it?" 

Pacifica laughed and pushed the lumberjack hat over his head with a grin. "Dork!" 

Tyler crouched to talk to them - though he didn't have to crouch very far, thanks to his small stature. "You two stay safe if you're going to look into this stuff. And uh… By the way. Does the name Curzon, or Cursey or… I dunno, Canker mean anything to you? I have something on the tip of my lil' thinker. I just can't shake it."

"N-nope. Never heard of him." Dipper stumbled, awkwardly. 

"Is it from, like, a movie or something?" Pacifica added, the two nervously looking to each other. It was clear that their little memory wipe on the mayor was - for the most part - holding firm. They didn't think it much of a positive for him to start remembering his own encounters in The Crawlspace. 

Or who had blown up Gerron Street, for that matter. Probably not the most legal thing the family had ever done. 

  
  



	11. The Breakfast Hub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The smell of burning plastic was soon being overridden by the scent of coffee, bacon and maple syrup. There was a time when Pacifica would have recoiled at such a collection of smells, especially in such a hot, sticky, bustling atmosphere. 

Now, it was home. It was comfort. 

She took a deep breath and smiled as she sat back in their little booth, resisting the urge to wipe the tables as Susan brought their breakfast. 

"How are my favourite lovebiiiiirds?" She grinned in her usual friendly, albeit absent-minded drawl. "Things going well in your little summer romaaaaaance?" 

The two kids chuckled. It still got them ridiculously flustered when people brought it up...and people _always_ brought it up. Especially Susan, who seemed to think they were the most precious thing in town. She gushed over the two - especially Pacifica - as if they were her own. Dipper found it embarrassing, while for the Northwest heir - who wasn't exactly used to being mothered - it was almost thrilling. A strange sort of excitement to know somebody really cared and looked after her _that_ much.

Sure, Dipper and the family did too, of course, but this was different. A more maternal, protective, "make-sure-you-eat-lunch-today" sort of love. 

Pacifica was pretty sure it was one of the nicest parts of working with the older woman. Even if it did mean a lot of cheek pinches and hair ruffling. 

"Your sister and her new flaaame were here, Too, Dipper. She had a super-choco-wocco-sparkle-cream-deluxe and gave everyone a sticker. She's so cuuute!"

"Heh, yeah, that uh… that sounds like Mabel.” 

“It’ll be such a shame when you Pines have to leave town again. You all bring so much life and light here, especially to those who need it.” Susan beamed, pinching Pacifica’s cheek. “Isn’t that right, sweetie?”

Pacifica giggled nervously and held her cheek. “Yeah, sure, Susan. N-not in front of the boyfriend, huh?”

“Oh suuuure, worried It’ll scare him off? He already knows what we all know, Pacifica. Beneath that sarky little glamourpuss is a heart of gold, just waiting to be polished up.” Susan continued, wiping the table. “Just make sure you look after it, Dipper Pines, or you’ll have me to answer tooo!”

“Susan, seriously. It’s maybe a bit late for these warnings. We’ve been together for like, a month, now.” Pacifica protested - before realising that they had only been together for like, a month. Jeez, it felt like longer.

“Well, until you say otherwise, I’m watching you, Dipper Piiiines.” Susan replied with a finger-assisted wink. “I’ll have your breakfast out to you in two shakes of a spatula. Behave yourseeeelves!”

She stepped backwards in a less-than-convincing attempt at seeming intimidating. Dipper watched her, more than a little perturbed, one of his eyebrows raised. “She really is a bit…”

“Bonkers? Yeah, but she’s brilliant.” Pacifica grinned. “You’d have trouble finding a nicer person in town, Dipper.”

“Still think we did the right thing not telling her about Curzon?”

“Damn right. If Susan is happy being Susan? Let her be Susan.” Pacifica shrugged. “Besides, she makes the best breakfasts in the state.” 

Right enough, though Dipper wasn’t entirely sure how long it took to shake a spatula, breakfast came quickly. Greasy, perfectly cooked, eggs sunny side up and just a little runny. He smiled. The only way it could be better would be Pacifica sliding the plate in front of him in the uniform. 

Not that he was particularly interested in girls in uniform. Was he?

Man, being a teenager was difficult. 

His mind raced, his cheeks flushing - desperately looking for a different topic to focus on as she shoved a generous forkful of his breakfast into his mouth.

Pacifica cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. 

“You know, this place is probably a bit of a fire hazard.” He finally said with his mouth full. “Is Susan insured for that?”

“Dipper, seriously.”

“What?” 

“The card. The fire. The… things. Y’know, everything. What do you think’s going on?”

“I mean, it could be a fake. Y’know, like an insurance scam or something.”

“I know even _you_ aren’t paranoid and suspicious enough to think it’s a hoax.” 

“I mean… It just seems a bit weird to me that a fire breaks out the day after we saw the Clurichaun threaten a restaurant owner. Do you think-”

“-That they’re some kind of mob, targeting fancy restaurants in town?” Pacifica asked, with sudden excitement in her eyes.

“Y-yeah.” 

Dipper blinked. 

He was still acclimating to the fact Pacifica was pretty decent at pulling plots together. He was pretty sure Ford never had the problem of people beating him to exposition. Was the plot just, like, really, really obvious and he didn’t notice?

Probably the latter. 

The problem, of course, was that there wasn’t exactly a burgeoning luxury restaurant trade in Gravity Falls. Quite the opposite. There were two high priced restaurants they knew of in town - and if anybody was to know, it was Pacifica - one of which had just been razed to the ground. And even then, it wasn’t really to the standards of The Club.

The Club at least had proper floor tiles and real velvet curtains. Apparently the seafood joint’s fountains had all of the fire resistance of papier mâché. Hell, Pacifica was convinced their silverware wasn’t even real silver. 

It was the principle of the thing. At least Greasy’s didn’t hide the fact it was a diner on a railroad chassis. More’s to the point, a diner made out of a _wrecked_ railroad chassis. 

Damned good omelette, though. She was convinced Susan’s omelettes were a hundred times better than anything she’d ever eaten at the seafood joint. She’d heard rumours about them dishing up live, raw lobster because the cooks just… forgot.

Seriously? _Seriously_. She'd hate to be the poor loser who got _that_ meal.

“Well, if they _are_ the Cluri-whatsit, where do you think they’ll go next, Dip? There’s not exactly a ton of options in town.”

“I dunno.” Was the simple reply, served with a shrug. “Maybe this’ll just be it? Like, they’ll just focus on The Club, or something. Unless there’s something else they’re after.” 

Pacifica nodded absently as she ate, thinking as hard as she could about why the heck a drunken Irish dwarf - or what seemed to be a group of them - would be bothering to raid a seafood restaurant that was only ever notable for allowing horses into the establishment.

And having fairly decent strawberry and chocolate brownie bites. She had to give ‘em that.


	12. Anthropomorphic Toast & Mob Bosses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

They were just polishing off breakfast when Mabel and Kevin returned to the diner, clutching several overladen shopping bags of craft supplies, glitter and stickers. It was a typically boisterous entrance - but for Dipper, who was used to his sister’s antics and completely transfixed by a mixture of breakfast and his own thoughts, it went almost entirely unnoticed. 

He didn’t even notice when Mabel started rifling through one of her bags with a devious glint in her eye. 

Pacifica, far more alert - or far less fixated, dependent on one’s view, nudged him with her foot. "Don't look now, but-" 

Dipper ignored the advice and looked to his left, only to have a large sticker slapped onto his face with an enthusiastic _BWAP_ , obscuring his cheek with a very happy looking anthropomorphic slice of toast. 

"Boom! Now you look even more crumby than usual!" the chipper brunette in the headband exclaimed, her baggy sweater sleeves flapping erratically. 

Mabel was even more excited than usual. Art and craft stores could do that to even the most straight-lipped individual. Especially if there were googly eyes. To an already excitable girl like her, knee-deep in glitter and madly in love, there was currently no reason to frown. Mabel was _swimming_. 

"That's not very nice, Mabel." Pacifica smirked. "He wasn't _bready_."

"Too busy buttering him up, Pacifica?" 

"You might get us into a jam if you keep up like this, hon."

Dipper couldn't quite keep a straight face as he struggled to remove the cartoon piece of toast from his face. It was still pretty surreal to know Pacifica was his girlfriend, but the most surreal thing was seeing the once grumpy, intimidating and outright unpleasant blonde making dumb jokes and laughing with his sister. 

He huffed as he finally managed to pull it off. Part of him was glad he didn't have facial hair yet. Could have been painful. 

“Man," He said thoughtfully, "if Mabel knew how much you loved puns she’d have been your friend the moment we arrived last Summer. Who knew Pacifica Northwest had a sense of humour, right?”

Pacifica chuckled and walked her fingers over Dipper’s hand, looking deep into his eyes. “Who knew dorky Dipper Pines actually had a personality outside of his crummy book?”

The two smiled as they gazed at each other quietly, almost forgetting Mabel and Kevin’s presence. 

"You guys heard about the fire?" Mabel piped up. "Apparently the lobsters escaped and are building some kinda crazy lobster army."

"You just made that up!" Kevin interjected.

Mabel was, ultimately, unrepentant. "I'm just preparing people for the inevitable, sweetcheeks. People thought McGucket was crazy too!" 

"McGucket _was_ crazy." 

"Crazy like a _fox_." 

"Yeah, we heard, Mabel." Dipper grinned. 

"See! See! Dipper knows the lobster uprising is coming!" 

Everyone stared at Dipper in surprise as he started stammering his way out of the conversation, somewhat irritated about being implicated in Mabel's great lobster conspiracy. "I-I-I didn't mean the lobster thing! I meant the fire! We think we've worked it out!" 

The subject changed instantly, testament to Mabel's natural enthusiasm. 

"Spill the beans!" she said excitedly, sliding into the booth and almost slamming Pacifica into the wall of the diner. "The mystery quartet is on the case, baby!" 

“Quartet? You guys want me involved?” Kevin blinked. 

“Duh.” Mabel fluttered her eyelashes as she spoke. “I want you involved in my _everything_. _And_ your hair."

Kevin cocked his head, thought for a moment - then, with a big, gap-toothed smile on his face, slipped into the booth with them and listened to the story so far. 

The group soon went over what they knew of the latest big supernatural scam that seemed to be haunting the town. Or at least, what they figured was a big supernatural scam that was haunting the town. To be strictly fair, they hadn’t really got confirmation yet. 

Regardless, they stuck to the theory - with gusto. It came naturally to them. To be fair, mostly Dipper, but everyone else got pretty into it too. It started off slow with him leading the charge, but, within time, everybody was throwing in thoughts and ideas, everybody contributing to the grand concept that had seemingly materialised around them. They went over the facts, drew on some napkins, ordered some cherry pie and a damned good cup of coffee- Pretty standard Mystery Quartet stuff. 

It was Kevin who piped up the big question first. "So, who's the boss?" 

"Huh?" 

"C'mon Dipper, there's always a mob boss," Kevin said, tapping the table determinedly. "Some old guy in a suit who talks funny. Y'know, stroking a cat or something."

The table went silent. Pacifica looked to Dipper, who looked to Mabel, who swooned over Kevin in an exaggerated manner and gripped his arm. 

Standard Mystery Quartet stuff. 

"That's… That's a good point." Dipper mumbled, beginning to chew his pen. "They'd have to know about human restaurants, right?" 

"Jeff the gnome, maybe? He likes human food and has experience running groups of tiny people with no boundaries."

“To be honest, it’s probably better than gnomes,” Pacifica added. 

Kevin was somewhat perturbed by the suggestion.“What, the little guy with who shaved his moustache and hated nymphs? You seriously think he’d run a mob?”

"Come on guys,” Dipper interjected. “I don’t buy it. The guy couldn't organise a sugar rush in a candy store.”

“Just a boss Clurichaun, then?”

“I... dunno if a Clurichaun is gonna _try_ and run a mob,” Dipper replied. “That seems a bit elaborate for guys who just want to drink expired juice and live in cellars. Like, Grunkle Ford said they’re solo, right?”

Pacifica nodded thoughtfully. “And friendly. And not really violent.”

“Exactly. Someone’s _teaching_ them this stuff. Someone has to be pulling the strings. Someone a little closer to home.”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. She didn't like where it was heading and almost dreaded asking the question. "What are you saying?" 

"I'm saying it's either a Demon or a Person," Dipper replied firmly. This time he was the one tapping the table. Resolutely. Almost authoritatively. “Maybe a lizard person, I dunno - but they know how to run this kinda stuff and they know the town well. Could even be someone we know.”

It was exactly what she expected him to say. Not so much the Demon bit, though The entire table fell silent - because they knew. They knew it was the logical conclusion. It was just one they didn’t relish in the prospect of.

Who in Gravity Falls would run a mafia? How do you choose from a township where so many people are criminals? And how do you unearth that kind of thing when the authorities are more likely to be trying on short shorts at thrift stores than trying to stop crime? 

Four kids up against a miniature mob. And with one of the only fancy restaurants in town out of the picture, nobody was sure what said mob was going to do next. 

They needed a plan. Leaf blowers weren't going to cut it this time. 


	13. The Other Expert’s Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

“You want to do _what_?”

Dipper rubbed the back of his head, tussling his own unkempt hair as he spoke. “We... want to try and talk to a potentially violent criminal leprechaun.” 

"Probably by catching him." his girlfriend added, twisting her foot awkwardly on the floor. 

“And beating him up!” Mabel added.

Kevin nodded with an air of determination, his fairly well established punching hands getting a good knuckle cracking in for illustration. 

Though he still wasn't entirely sure about the nature of the plan, to be fair. 

  
“Yeesh, you damned kids.” Stanley rolled his eyes with a smirk as he thought about the idea, supping from his can of Pitt (Now with added painkillers!) “Can’t you, I dunno, obsess over rock bands or something? Do kids still listen to _Smooch_ and _Blynd Cheetah_?”

The increasingly vacant expressions of the four kids answered his question. 

“Look, I’ve only run into six mafia operations in my time, and I’ve run maybe two since the 70s. If you capture one of these guys, they’ll want revenge. It’s kinda their deal. Honour this, revenge that, don’t try and inbreed our racehorses to create a super horse, stop fooling around with the boss’s wife-”

The increasingly judgemental expressions of the four kids told him it was probably time to quit while he was ahead. 

“Uh… anyway. My point is, don’t go trying to catch mobsters. Even tiny boozed up ones.”

“Are you seriously trying to be a responsible guardian?” Pacifica said, placing her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. “You almost sounded like an actual parent.”

Stanley paused and looked straight ahead from his armchair, not entirely sure how to judge that remark. 

Him? Responsible? 

Dipper blinked - then grinned as he caught on to the little scheme. “Yeah, like that jerk, Pop-Pop. Y’know, Pop-pop Shpines.”

It was mean, it was manipulative, it was pretty smart, kinda funny… Classic Northwest stuff, really. Dirty. Underhanded. 

“Oh yeeeaaah.” Pacifica made a show of thinking back, tapping her lip. “Shmipper and Shmabel’s Grandpa. Man, he is _really_ responsible. He’s like, so pale, well-adjusted and bland he’s like a head of cauliflower. Maybe that’s Stan’s future, huh?”

“Heyheyhey!” The old man shouted. “Don’t even try it, kids! You aren’t going to use your manipulation tricks on me, you little jerks!”

“Hey, we’re just saying, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper shrugged innocently. “It’s pretty responsible to tell us not to go kidnapping clurichauns.” 

The plan was going swimmingly, as many of them so often did. Stan was beginning to grow increasingly paranoid. A trickle of sweat travelled down his brow as the psychological games continued. 

It was Mabel who dealt the final, crippling blow. 

“Yeah, that’s good parenting.” Mabel nodded. “Well done, Grunkle Stan! Or should i say…” 

“Don’t you dare.” Stan snarled, pointing a finger at Mabel’s face. 

Mabel grinned wickedly.

“Don’t do it, kid.”

Mabel moistened her lips, and slowly opened her mouth… 

“Sweetie, I’m being serious. C’mon, don’t be a-”

Finally, with that wicked glint in her eye, Mabel finished her sentence. “ ** _Pop-Pop_ ** _Stan._ ”

Stan yelled inarticulately in abject, horrified denial, threw his half empty can of Pitt and stood up defiantly, jabbing his fingers at the four kids. “I’m not some damned Pop-pop!” 

“So you’ll help us?” Mabel squealed, throwing herself at the old man in a tight hug. 

“I’ll cosh them myself, kiddo. Ya think Stan Pines is losing his edge? I’ll show you how to do it in style! There’s a net, a jerry can, some rope and some handcuffs in the back of the Diablo.” 

"Why is there-" 

"Shut up, Dippy. Come on, kids, show me where we find one of these guys."

"Are you uh… Gonna put on pants, or-" 

"Don't push your luck, kid."

Dipper turned to the others and rolled his eyes. "All in favour of Grunkle Stan putting on pants?" 

The vote was, predictably, completely one sided. Stan rolled his eyes and cracked his back as he lumbered up the stairs, mumbling something about how democracy was a waste of time if he didn't get to fix the vote first. 

There was a pause as the kids waited for him to return, all smiling proudly at a job well done. The Mystery Quartet was damned good at their job. Even if the newest recruit was feeling a bit lost. 

Right enough, Kevin looked at the others in confusion. "I think that was… The weirdest family moment I've ever seen."

No small remark coming from a Corduroy. He had spent most of last summer at survival camps, acting as a viking raider and watching his dad punch a fish in the kidneys. He wasn't even sure if a fish _had_ kidneys, but his dad seemed particularly dedicated to the concept of that fish’s kidneys getting a pounding. 

"You'll get used to it by the time we get married." Mabel beamed from ear to ear and patted him enthusiastically on the back. 

Kevin went a deep hue of pink and stared blankly at Pacifica, who gave a tiny, understanding nod. It was a Pines thing. Considering how much they treated themselves like separate entities, Dipper and Mabel fit more into Gravity Falls' weirdness than Pacifica felt like she did, sometimes. 

It wasn't too long before Stan returned, dressed in his casual criminal garb of a leather bomber jacket, beanie and jeans, already adorned in brass knuckles. 

"Let's go catch ourselves a criminal."

"y'know, Grunkle Stan, you really can't look down so much on someone being a criminal when-" 

"Shut up, slick. There's a difference. I'm not hurtin' anyone." 

"You uh… Look a bit like you're going to hurt a Clurichaun." Mabel ventured. 

"Look." Stan replied, indignantly. "You kids might be more like Ford with the whole… Investigation and mystery stuff. But when you want to get someone who skirts the edge of legality, knows how to intimidate people, has a better personality…" 

"We get it." Dipper interrupted him flatly. "Let's just go get this over with."

"Hold it, kid. You all need to dress more inconspa- inconspicuo- ...subtle.”

It didn’t take more than a few moments for Stan to show them what he meant. 

It has to be said, Dipper felt like it was more conspicuous for them to be dressed in black jackets, combat boots and beanies. In fact, it felt like exactly the kind of thing people would notice. And gave him flashbacks to the Gothic photoshoot. 

He was not a fan of the Gothic photoshoot. 

He tugged uncomfortably at the elasticated hem of the beanie hat, his substantial unkempt and uncut hair stuffed inside it with little leeway. Why would anybody wear a beanie over a normal hat? Man, this was why he didn’t like changing clothes. It was annoying. A t-shirt, vest and shorts, that’s all any good mystery hunter needed.

Pacifica smirked and pulled the Beanie down a little more over his head. “You kinda suit it.”

He wasn’t convinced - but hey, Stan was the criminal who had escaped the law for most of his life. He figured if there was one thing he could trust the Grunkle’s advice on, it was lawbreaking. If they were even breaking a law. Like, could kidnapping a fantasy creature be seen as illegal? Officially, they didn’t even exist, right?

They were soon all suited and booted in the finest of Stan’s thuggery wardrobe, and squeezing into the Diablo. 

"So where we headed?" Stanley asked as he started up the car.

Dipper gulped.

It wasn’t particularly comfortable. 

Given the worryingly large and pre-assembled bag of ropes, interrogation equipment and weaponry, those three seats didn't go very far, even for four teens. It meant each couple was being forced into a pretty tight spot.

For Mabel and Kevin, it was a sweet time for cuddling. For Dipper, it was a time for continuous blushing and feeling awkward. A kid he might have been, but he was a teenage kid. 

He coughed awkwardly. 

Pacifica smirked as Dipper squirmed, his head only inches from hers, their hands practically forced into touching, their hips meeting firmly with barely an inch of negotiation between them. 

She was pretty sure she liked it.

"Yeah, Dip. You're the mastermind." She grinned and tapped his nose. "Where are we heading?" 

"W-we uh… D-don't really know." Dipper stammered, trying to ignore the signature nose tap and Pacifica's love of teasing him. "W-we're kinda… y'know, winging it."

"Firstly kid, go splash your face with cold water or somethin'. You're sweating like a turkey in a baking tray. Secondly, you gotta at least _try_ and _plan_ this stuff. You think we're just going to walk in back alleys with this stuff on us and nobody will notice?"


	14. Independent Operators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

"I can't believe we're just walking in back alleys with this stuff on us and nobody has noticed," Stan murmured as the little group of beanied misfits wandered the darkened side streets of Gravity Falls. 

Of which there were a disproportionate amount, considering the lack of particularly large buildings. 

Dipper knew he shouldn’t be surprised, of course. Gravity Falls, for all of its sleepiness and charming small-town idyll, was a place that seemed to constantly flex and bend before them. It was a place wherein there was always a secret, always somewhere they hadn’t seen before, always something lurking in the shadows.

This time, things felt dark; angular. Like everything was in greyscale, picked up in thick, angular, inky shadows. Steam seemed to constantly pour from nonsensical vent fittings and manholes. Soft yellow lights glowed from all manner of gnomic speakeasies and fairy clubs, nymph parlours and Plaidypi dens, all scattered into the back rooms and concaves of the legitimate, human businesses ahead of them.

Since the destruction of The Crawlspace, it was a sort of accepted fact that most of the town’s anomalies, cryptids and creatures had moved to the surface world during the day; settling into their own bizarre little variants on the human world - this time, on their own terms as opposed to Cankerblight’s. 

The sounds of tiny glasses breaking, arguments and the occasional quack made it fairly clear this was no fantasy haven. This was gritty, unpleasant, illegal activity that smelt like expired apple juice and… 

Dipper sniffed. “Can you smell...donuts?”

“Dude,” Kevin whispered. “I thought I was just hungry.”

“Donuts or donut flavoured vodka,” Stan confirmed. Lord knows he had the nose for it. “Somethin’s sweet and artificial, either way. Doesn’t really fit into the place, does it?”

“This place is creepy and shifty and smells like fairground snacks!” Mabel beamed.

“Like New Jersey,” Stan mumbled. 

Stan couldn’t help but be reminded of the Jersey pier ganglands; the spikes of violence, the piers and beaches where he spent his childhood, the weird little geeks wandering around with shives and little plastic bags of parsley…

It was completely unfit for kids to be. It was dangerous, it was grim, the floors - even though they were simple, concrete paving stones, asphalt and gravel - felt strangely sticky and encrusted in filth - it was for a crime den of the disaffected fantasy world. It was like a pit of anger and desperation for those who had lost The Crawlspace - their sanctuary. 

Pacifica paused as she glanced at a barely-conscious gnome, bundled up in a blanket alongside against a collection of trash cans, mumbling the word ‘Shmebulock’ as he shivered in the murky, damp corner. 

Dipper, Mabel and she had never really considered the consequences of The Crawlspace’s destruction. Not properly. Now they saw this place, broken and fractured, dark and unwelcoming, it felt like they had done wrong by tearing it all apart. 

It felt like, in some way, they were responsible for this potential leprechaun mafia.

It was their fault. This shadow-ridden, filth-encrusted, damp part of the fantasy-criminal underworld. This horrible place. 

The perfect place, in fact, to find a Clurichaun. 

They hid behind a few long-expired Smile Dip boxes and went silent as one of the tiny reinforced doors swung open. A small, high pitched but very aggressive voice rang out from inside, the door being held open by a small, finely clad black shoe with leather buckles. “Thanks for yer service, pal. Remember th’payment’s due next Friday, and the boss won’t take no for an answer. Capiche?”

“I- I dunno if I’ll have it for you, Dovey - business is pretty slow since the Clam burnt-”

“EY, EY, EY! Don’t backchat me, ya jerk. I’ve been around this block twice in the past week because you don’t know how to pay your insurance money. Ya think this is a joke?”

“T-tell the boss I’ll have it next week. I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Ya better. He doesn’t like a dilly-dallier. It’s just as well fer you that he likes you, Slim. Get back ta work and earn some damned money.”

“Y-you got it, Dovey.”

The door was kicked back open again fiercely as a sharp silhouette cast onto the damp alleyway outside. Out strode the Clurichaun.

The kids gawked. 

There he was, lantern-jawed, short and well dressed, a strange mix of Irish folk wear and 1920s prohibition-era enforcer. His wide brim trilby hid his face, perched atop mug handle ears and a bulbous nose, a thick black moustache flowing from his lip into large, bushy sideburns. 

He snorted and spat on the pavement as he adjusted his fine, deep charcoal suit and the carnation perched inside his lapel, brushing off his shoulders as if the tumbledown, tiny establishment he had stepped out of had left some kind of sullied filth upon his clothing.

He was the guy. It was pretty obvious. Like a leprechaun who had spent most of his life watching gangster films.

He pulled what looked like a cigarette out of his pocket - but, to their surprise, it was a Footsie Roll Pop - well known for its sugary cream cheese centre. He unwrapped it and slipped it into his lantern jaw as if it was a fine cigar. 

They blinked as they watched the bizarre creature stride, confidently, down the alleyway, stepping over steaming vents and navigating the puddles in hopes of keeping those fine, leather shoes - with perfectly polished golden buckles - clean. 

Stan rubbed his chin, momentarily fascinated by the prospect of the guy potentially having a pot of gold - I mean, you never know, right? Dipper soon brought him back to the bizarre reality. 

“Grunkle Stan!” He whispered. “What do we do?” 

“Leave it to me, kid.” Stan replied firmly, cracking his knuckles and standing up, walking in an attempt of casual behaviour towards the strange, sandpaper-chined little man. “Hey, slick.”

The Clurichaun paused and span on his heel. “Can I help ya, hume? You guys ain’t normally skulking around her.” 

“Fan of sugar, huh?” 

“What’s it to ya?” 

“I might have somethin’ for ya. Business deal. A big one.”

“You wanna contribute to the biz, ya need to see the big man, hume. I’m afraid he ain’t looking for shmucks tryna pull a tidy one.”

“Perhaps you could introduce me, pal.” 

“Over my dead body, hume. I don’t deal wid’anyone over five and a half feet tall. Scram.” 

“And if I don’t?” 

The Clurichaun snarled, slipped out his Footsie pop and tucked it into a leather wallet, seemingly shaped for exactly that purpose. “We gonna have trouble? You wanna step up to The Dove?” 

The little man turned to face him and raised his head slightly to get a good luck at the stranger, passing his flick-knife between his hands as he sized up the antagonistic old man in front of him.

Stan remained steadfast and remarkably unimpressed. “You even know how to use a knife, pal?”

“I’ll cut you into leather and make you into a new paira shoes, ya big lunk!”

“Gotta be better than the ones you’re wearing.” 

It was no secret that Leprechauns were obsessed with shoes. More than Pacifica was, in fact. Stan’s guess - and it was a pretty smart one, really - was that such an obsession likely spread amongst the rest of the Irish faes. Truth be told, Dipper was incredibly impressed by the inventive slanging match his Grunkle was laying out to entrap the vicious little man. 

He had never seen Stan as being much of a monster hunter, not really - and if he was, he figured Stanley would be the sort to punch people and ask questions later. Here, the old man was using his wits, what he knew about this guy’s cousins, and how to antagonise a clearly very angry, vicious little man with a switchblade. 

It worked too. 

“What did you just say to me?! You wanna go, hume?! Let's freakin’ dance, ya fat old wreck!” The little man roared inarticulately, flicked out his blade and ran at Stan, aiming towards gashing him in the thigh. 

“Now, kids!” Stan yelled.

The four other ‘humes’ ran out with the weighted nets and sprung upon the tiny criminal with equally inarticulate yells and roars, brandishing dull weapons such as fists and feet against him. He was almost immediately overpowered. 

“Hey! What the heck- I’ll kill the lotta ya! If da big man hears about this, you’ll all be sleepin’ with the fish! I swear on my mother, you bunch of ingrates, I’m a legitimate businessman!”

“Goodnight, Gracey.” Stan grinned, raising his leather cosh. 

“Don’t do it, hume! I’m warnin’ ya! Let me go now and we’ll forget this ever happened - ya go through with this, I’ll unleash th’pits of hell on ya!” 

_ THWACK! _


	15. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

It was fair to say that the day had finished strangely for Feathers ‘The Dove’ McGinty, the Big Man’s resident enforcer. Broad shouldered, smart and vicious, he was everything a good mob needed - a well dressed, savvy and intimidating man to keep the locals in check, pick up the cash and deliver the product.

He made a good living, had a good relationship with his raccoon wife (following his particularly messy divorce from his pigeon wife, who had later mysteriously disappeared near a Virginia Roast Chicken joint) and was by far the big man’s favourite. Admittedly, the big man had never said so, but it was pretty clear.

Nearly two feet tall, one of the tallest of the entire mob, fine leather shoes, a beautiful Italian suit and the finest German Fedora, taken by force from _The Unshaven Throat True Gentleman’s Clothing and Japanese Action Figure Store._

And all through a business selling what people wanted. The good stuff. Yeah, he had to get rough, he had to get mean - his business relied on intimidation. But, in the end, he was bringing people what they wanted. What’s the harm?

Now, he’d been coshed by a big, hairy hume from Jersey and his demented sidekids. 

His head pounded. He could taste something metallic in the back of his throat. He’d probaby bitten his tongue or something. His eyelids felt heavy and bleary, like he’d been asleep after a particularly heavy night at the Speakeasy. 

Feathers McGinty was, ultimately, not in the best of moods. He lifted his head hesitantly to find himself inside the Mystery Shack’s living room, being met with a feast of tacky, outdated decor and stained glass. A lobster in the tank snapped its claws. The bubbling pump provided the only meaningful noise outside the ticking of a clock.

He was tied to a creaky wooden chair, his hands cuffed.

Feathers began to struggle. “Hume? I know you’re in here! I’m not gonna-” 

He froze as his vision finally adjusted. 

A particularly large, portly human in a fez stood in front of him, eating a salami and squinting as he looked over the mobster’s face.

“Dude, this is a Clurichaun?” He asked with his mouth full.

“Don’t touch the Clurichaun, Soos.” Came a voice from outside the room.

“Aw, come on Dipper - you gotta let me poke him.”

“ _One_ poke.”

“Yes!” The human punched the air excitedly and gave Feathers a sharp prod in the nose. 

McGinty’s response was far from accommodating. “You poke me one more time, and I’ll break every finger of you, your family, your family’s family-!”

Soos was unmoved by the little man’s protests and took another bite of his cured meat. “Bro, watcha gonna do with him?”

“Interrogate him.” Dipper grinned as he walked in, now back in his usual clothes. “Find out who he’s working for.” 

Feathers glared at Dipper furiously. “What are you meant to be?! Some kinda giant headed troll? Are you a cop? You don’t scare me, kid!” 

“I might not,” Dipper replied. “But I got someone who will scare you.” 

“Huh?” 

Mabels and Kevin walked in with Waddles, who was grunting amiably - trotting along in his inoffensive manner. “This is Waddles!” His owner grinned. 

“A pig?”

“Well, y’see…” Mabel smiled. “Waddles just loves shoes. Can’t get enough of ‘em. Shoes are like, his favourites!” 

“And the problem is we can’t have him chewing ours.” Dipper nodded. 

“Definitely.” Pacifica smiled, wrapping her arm around her boyfriend. “I mean, my boots cost like $600, y’know?” 

“So we figured we’d let him chew on yours,” Kevin smirked. “Y’know, give him a treat.”

“They’re pretty nice shoes, Slick.” Stan grinned. “Pig slather, trust me - that pig’s tongue could get through pure Italian leather like Soos with a candy bar. And when he gets excited, he’ll just keep chewin’ and chewin’.”

“Straight through the shoes,” Dipper said.

“Straight through the socks,” Pacifica added.

“Straight through the skin.” Mabel piped in.

Finally, Kevin strode up and pounded his fist into his hand. “Until there’s just no feet left. Nasty way to lose some nice shoes and your legs, really.”

Feathers stared at the porcine creature and squirmed. “You’re - you’re bluffing-” 

“I wish I was, pal.” Stan sighed, holding up a pair of once fine brogues, now practically gnawed to pieces. “This is what happened to my good shoes last summer, and they weren’t even real leather. He’ll think yours are a real treat.” 

McGinty stared in abject horror as Waddles was led closer to his pride and joy - those perfectly polished leather shoes with golden buckles, still snugly fastened onto his feet. The adorable, chubby faced creature now seemed outright threatening. It grunted and snuffled at Feathers’ footwear curiously. 

“Ya - ya can’t! Ya can’t do this!” He protested. 

“Sorry, man,” Dipper shrugged. “He’s a pig. He’ll eat what he wants to, y’know?” 

“Listen ta me, listen! You ain’t all bad, right? We can make a deal! I’m a legitimate businessman, you need money, crullers, I can bring it to ya!” 

Soos, at least, was receptive. “Hey, bro, crullers are pretty good. Are we talkin’ cinnamon or-” 

“A-a-a-anythin’ ya want, pal! I’ll do it for ya! No questions asked! I’m a fixer, I fix things, I-” 

“We don’t want crullers,” Pacifica replied, peering close to the little man in the chair, her eyes piercing from the shadow beneath her voluminous fringe. She held a hand up to stop Soos saying that he did, in fact, want crullers. “We want information.”

McGinty frowned, a trickle of sweat running down his brow. “Ya think I’m scared of a broad? Let the men do business, girlie-”

_SLAP!_

Dipper flinched and stared blankly. He always figured that the Northwest heir would have a decent smack on her, but that looked like it _hurt_. He was pretty sure he could feel his cheek going red in sympathy with the little man. Then he realised his other cheek was red too. 

He was blushing. He was impressed by, even kinda into the fact Pacifica had been so fearless to just crack a mob enforcer across the face. He was pretty sure _he’d_ never dare to do it.

To be honest, he was kinda having a quiet freak out at the fact they could be getting the mob descending on their family, even with the defence pig. 

“Just because you talk like a chauvinist from the 20s doesn’t mean you have to be one,” Pacifica growled. “Sic the pig on him, Mabel. This guy’s useless.” 

“With pleasure. Prepare for a serving of biting bacon, with a side order of girl power!” Mabel grinned, bending down to unfasten the 40lb pig from his leash. 40lb wasn’t even big for a year old pig, but to a Clurichun, that was massive. 

Waddles drooled as he fought to try and get free, his adorable black button eyes glinting with anticipation - to the eyes of a shoe-loving Clurichaun, it wasn’t too different to a gnashing german shepherd. To Feathers McGinty, who had been in the biz for a fairly long time, this was a damned effective interrogation.

In fact, save the tacky, overly bright decor and the fact most of his assailants were teenage humes, he was pretty sure this was the most formal ‘info gathering’ he’d ever seen between rival gangs. He was quietly wondering if he should take notes, y’know, maybe get a micro pig or some junk. 

He was, frankly, petrified of the circumstances. He bit his lip, sweating profusely, his eyes darting around the room - and, just before the clip on the pig’s leash was unhooked, McGinty finally - mercifully - cracked. 

He shouted at the top of his lungs, struggling madly. “Alright, alright, alright! Jeez, I’ll speak, Humes, just get that pink monster away from me! Freakin’ H, you’re crazy!”

Dipper paused impressively, hands on his hips - before clicking his fingers. Mabel fed Waddles an apple instead, satiating the animal in the place of those Italian leather shoes. “Spill it.”

“Alright.” Panted the diminutive, square faced creature, looking up at Dipper furiously. “I’ll - I’ll tell you everything. But not a word about this to the big man, alright? If he hears I’ve been squealin’, my life ain’t worth livin’ anymore. Capiche?” 

Dipper leaned in. “Sure thing. Think of us as your priest.”

“I actually am a priest in six states, bro.” Soos chimed in. “I can do weddings, bar mitzvahs, pyre burnings, maypoles-”

The tense atmosphere was suddenly broken by Mr Mystery. Everyone, even their captured Clurichaun, glanced at each other blankly as they processed what had just been said.

Finally, Pacifica looked at him in confusion, wrinkling her nose. 

“I got wrapped up in online courses this January.“ Soos grinned innocently and started counting on his fingers. “I also know how to belly dance, waltz, drive eight types of trans-siberian railroad train and juggle flaming torches. If knowledge is power, I wanna be, like Superman, dude.”

Perhaps a suitable threat for another interrogation, Pacifica figured. She couldn’t imagine people lining up to watch Soos belly dance.


	16. The Squealer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their final weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

When Feathers ‘Dove’ McGinty finally cracked, he sang like a songbird. Fitting, what with his name and all - but there was only so much he knew, and only so much even he could tell the Pines family about the way the organisation operates. 

He didn’t even know the big man’s name. 

What he did know, however, confirmed their worst ideas. The Clurichauns were aiming for a hostile takeover of every restaurant, bar, eaterie, _Crispy Cremey Dunkin’ Munch Palace_ and _Lactose King_ establishment - not only in Gravity Falls, but the wider area. 

Not for money. No, the profits came from further down the line. The restaurants were just part of a supply chain. What the supply chain was, though, he kept schtum on - no matter how many threats were made against his person. 

Feathers coyly, cryptically stated that they simply brought the Gravity Falls underworld what they needed most - brought the cryptids, gnomes and more the one thing everybody needed since the events of Weirdmageddon. 

“We bring ‘em pleasure, humes. Moments of relaxation that you privileged ‘normal’ people take for granted. A little bit of relaxation, a little bit of comfort.” He said. “I ain’t sayin’ anymore. My life ain’t worth the entire operation being flipped over.” 

“You know you gotta tell us, man.” Dipper protested. “You want to lose your feet to porky over there?”

“L-listen, I’m being serious. I know you guys mean business, I get it - but this guy, the boss, he’s twice as dirty. I promise ya, he’s gonna have me iced for this alone. I- I can’t tell ya anymore, I ain’t a squealer and I ain’t a dunski!”

Dipper, Pacifica, Mabel and Kevin looked up to Stan.

Stan grinned evilly. “Guess we gotta test that, pal. Kids, you might wanna get outta here. This is gonna get hairy. I’m gonna teach this guy some Cold War Baltic Prison Techniques.”

Feathers gulped. “Hey, hey, hey, let’s not get nuts here, chief-” 

“You wanna get nuts? Let’s get nuts.” Stan growled, grabbing the chair and pulling it into the Shack’s broom cupboard, dragging his bag of equipment behind him. The door slammed shut to more frantic, panicked protestations from the little, square jawed mob boss, screaming and swearing like a man possessed by nothing but fear. 

The kids glanced at each other. 

“Man, I feel kinda bad for him.” Mabel cringed. “I mean, if his boss is that bad…”

“It’s a dirty business.” Kevin said, gesturing slightly with his hands, as if to illustrate his point with confidence. His somewhat stilted tone proved that even a rough-and-ready Corduroy found this a bit… vicious. “Like, we gotta get info from somewhere, right?”

“Plus, we heard how nasty he was to people.” Dipper shrugged. “It’s not like he’s a good guy, right?” 

“I dunno,” Pacifica murmured, rubbing her arm nervously. “As long as Stan doesn’t kill him.”

“Pretty sure Grunkle Stan isn’t a murderer, save the odd spider, or zombie, or toffee peanut bag, Pacifica. You’ve probably come closer to killing him for calling you a broad!” Mabel giggled.

Pacifica huffed and held her fist. “Some things just aren’t okay, y’know?”

“Look, guys, I get the worry, but I think we’re doing something good, here,” Dipper said. “It’s not pretty, but it’s necessary. This is a mob thing, not just like… stealing candy or something.”

The kids were forced to concede. How bad could they honestly feel for a swearing, rant filled, chauvinistic, violent, switchblade handling, restaurant burning fae? He wasn’t just a bit of a nasty piece of work, he was rude about it and proud of it.

It was like a real mobster movie. They just needed to find out who the damned big man was, and, more importantly, where he was.

The screaming, shouting and protests were overbearingly loud. The kids didn’t know what Stan was doing to him, and didn’t want to know. They could already make out that it was utterly brutal, and going on for far too long. 

Inside the broom cupboard, Grunkle Stan was now on joke number 645 from his book of _1001 Yuk-’em-Ups._ Feathers McGinty was sobbing in agony, tears running down from underneath his wide brimmed fedora, begging for mercy. 

“Alright,” He cleared his throat and grinned as he turned the page. “Joke No.645 - this is a good one. Short too.”

“Please, please, please, no more, hume, look- I’m - I’m tellin’ ya, ya gotta believe me, I’ve said all I can say-”

“My mother-in-law…”

“I’m beggin’ ya! I’m beggin’ ya! No more! Quit it! Pop on th’brakes!”

“ _What a man!_ HA! You get it?! It’s funny 'cause nobody likes their in-laws!”

“NOOOOO!! ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! I CAN TELL YOU ONE MORE DAMNED THING, I CAN, I’LL TELL YOU THE LAST BIT I CAN SAY-”

“Ya sure? I mean, there’s volume two as well in here somewhere-”

“The mob’s HQ is in what’s lefta The Crawlspace! Y’know, on Gerron Street! We- we rebuilt parta th’joint! Look, pal, I’m beggin’ ya, don’t give me another yuk-’em-up! For the love of all that’s holy, don’tcha have any decency or mercy?! I’m just an employee! I’m staff! I’m a goon! No more, no more!” 

“Thanks for collaborating, McGinty.” Stan grinned, slamming the book shut. “But if you dare try and turncoat on us, you know what’ll happen…?”

The shaking, snivelling little man looked up at him fearfully as the old man leered over him with a wide, yellowed grin. “Wh-w-what else could ya possibly do?”

“Simple, chief,” Stan replied, firmly. “I’ll buy the _special edition_.” 

Dipper, Pacifica, Mabel and Kevin never discovered what happened behind those doors - but the Clurichaun was a very different man to the one they had captured. Stan had given him a crippling fear of the entire group. 

There were no threats, no swears, no tough-guy actions. He didn’t have it in him against his surprisingly formidable captors. Feathers McGinty swore to secrecy and scarpered off into the forest with no small amount of panic, barely saying another word. 

The kids never dared to even think what Stanley had done. Everybody knew that Stan Pines had a dark side to him - a side that not even the curious siblings dare venture into. But to see a stereotypical tough guy come out a snivelling wreck…it was proof enough how serious Stanley Pines was capable of taking the world.

They had developed a newfound respect for their Grunkle that day - and, with the newfound knowledge he had provided for their investigation, they were forever grateful. Their next stop was all too familiar to them, and all too reviled. It wasn’t a place any of them took solace, pleasure or even curiosity in visiting - not least since discovering what its destruction had led to.

“I am _sick_ of going down there.” Pacifica sighed, as Dipper patted her back reassuringly. “I mean, seriously, we need to go underground again? It’s filthy, it’s full of wreckage, and that… Knocker guy freaks me out.”

“He was friendly, though!” Mabel chirped.

“He’s a wrinkly blue thing in a loincloth. It freaks me out. Besides, we all know what’s happened there in the past, right? It can’t be anything good.”

“If he’s been doing his job, though, he’ll have seen everything, right?” 

“Right.” Pacifica huffed. “Creepy bald guy, the oracle. Great.” 

Stan grinned as he hoisted a loop of rope around his shoulder. “Well, there’s no time like the present, kids. We’ve got a mob boss to take down.” 

Dipper was just about to slip his beanie back on when Pacifica grabbed his hand.

“I dunno about that.” She said, simply. 

Stan paused as he tied up his combat boots and looked to his adopted Great Niece. Griece? Whatever Pacifica was, unofficially. “Huh?”

“It’s 11.” 

Stan looked at his imitation gold watch and grimaced. “Man, times flies when you’re having fun.”


	17. Winding Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

It felt remarkably unnatural going to sleep after such a rough day of kidnapping and threatening a Clurichaun with a pig eating its feet. Everyone felt the adrenaline - the tension. It could be carved up like a turkey and served on Thanksgiving, it was so thick and dry. 

It was a little hard to celebrate when they were pretty sure Stan had just committed some sort of crime against the Geneva convention in their broom cupboard. 

Of course, Mabel bounced back fairly quickly. For Dipper, however, the morality of it all still felt a bit… foggy. He was under no illusions, of course, that Feathers was a particularly pleasant character, but like…

What had his Grunkle _done_ to him?!

He was soon pacing in the living room with Pacifica for company.

“Man.” Dipper whispered. “Can you believe this?”

“Dipper, ever since I fell in love with _you_ of all people? I’d believe anything.”

“H-hey!”

“Just kidding, hon.” She grinned, tapping his nose. “But seriously, nothing surprises me with you guys. Not anymore.” 

“Even my Grunkle torturing a mobster?”

“If there was anybody in this family I expected to torture a Clurichaun, it might as well have been your Grunkle Stan.” Pacifica laughed and stroked Dipper’s cheek. “As I said. Nothing surprises me.”

Dipper smiled and held his cheek as she walked away. “Hey, uh… Pacifica.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m uh… I’m sorry I ever thought you were a bad person.”

She paused, turned to face him and put her hands on her hips. “Now that. _That_ surprises me.” Slowly, Pacifica walked - maybe strutted? - towards him. Dipper almost instantly felt like stepping back and hiding his face as she grabbed his vest and looked into his eyes. “I _was_ a bad person.”

The nerd in the vest swallowed, his eyes starting to dart as his pulse picked up frantically. He gave an awkward smile and tried to avoid her gaze. “N-na, you uh- you just needed polishing up a little.”

“You calling me a diamond, Mr. Pines?” She beamed even wider, looped her arms through his and pulled her against him. “For someone so _common_ , you’ve got a bit of a silver tongue, y’know?”

She fluttered her eyelashes as she leaned in.

Dipper swallowed again - then, as their noses touched-

“O-o-okay, I- I-” That was just about enough for him. He shot back, face as red as scarlet, sweat trickling down his brow. He turned away in a barely concealed panic. “Jeez..”

It wasn’t like it was something new, of course. But for Dipper, it was all still a little too easy to fall back into his own trap of anxiety, especially when faced with what seemed to be an exponentially confident Pacifica Northwest. 

He silently cursed himself, wondering if it made him look dumb or flimsy or non-committal or… well, just like a dork. 

To Pacifica, it was pretty much only the latter. And kinda cute. “You’re too easy.”

“S-stop teasing, you’re the worst!”

“So you’ve told me. A leopard doesn’t change its spots, y’know.” she smirked, pinching his cheek. "You wanna watch some cheesy horror movies and eat our body weight in popcorn?" 

Dipper smirked. “Now that, _that_ surprises _me_.”

“I get to choose, though.”

“Less surprising. The usual?”

“Duh.”

Frankly, Dipper wasn’t one to get bored of _The Less Than Empathetic Doctor Phoebe_ either, but he was surprised by Pacifica’s insistence to watch it every time they had a horror movie night. Hell, he was willing to do basically anything to keep the moments with Pacifica Northwest as peaceful and pleasant as they were. 

All the same, things were still nagging at him. Would Marius have pulled away from that so weakly? Would he have been more confident? Maybe he should be trying to act more like- 

Dammit. 

He had held Pacifica’s hand at The Club. Even though he, Pacifica’s _boyfriend_ , was right next to them! He knew! He had to know! Their families were meant to be married together and he was making a move! He had to be! And he was suave and polite and well dressed-

And he could barely deal with Pacifica flirting with him after more than a month. 

He was _pathetic_ , and Marius _wasn’t_. 

He had to shape up. Hell, it didn’t help that he was guilty of his own baggage. He couldn’t help but glance over in the general direction of Kevin and Mabel, and wonder how much they saw the irony of Mabel being the one who ended up with a Corduroy.

If they did, they didn’t show it.

Dipper was all too aware of the Corduroy irony. In fact, it still bothered him. Every cross this summer with the Corduroy family bothered him. It seemed like every moment with Pacifica was spent with people telling him how much _better it was_ than his love for Wendy.

Had all of last summer really been taken up that much by his crush on her?

No way. Right?

I mean, sure, he still wore the hat. He still blushed and squirmed whenever Wendy spoke to him. He still had the less than flattering moment in The Crawlspace. He _had_ sniffed Wendy’s hair. That… that probably still bugged Pacifica too. That wasn’t so weird, right? Like… Wendy just smelled…

Okay, okay, okay, cut it out, Dipper. You had to cut your chances. You gained an amazing girlfriend and lost the redhead you fancied your chances with. I mean, you did have a chance. Of course you did. There’s always a chance. 

_Right?_

The Wendy saga was over, he was sure of it - but somehow, his mind just… wandered, y’know?

_Man._

Meanwhile, Mabel was perhaps on the side of oblivious as she squealed over what - to her eyes - appeared to be Dipper’s perfect romance. _At last._

“Can you believe this, Kevin?! My brother and Pacifica Northwest!”

“Hasn’t this been normal for like, over a month?” Kevin asked.

“Dipper being happy with _anyone_ isn’t normal, Kevin. He’s almost _confident_ around her!” She replied, shaking his shoulders excitably. “Do you have any idea how amazing it is to see him smile so much?!”

“I mean, I’m used to seeing you smile constantly, and you guys look pretty similar, so… I guess I feel like seeing him smile is ordinary?”

“Man, you totally don’t get how huge this is. Look, Mr Fancy Hair, you gotta give me this. I’ve been trying to hook Dipper up with every guy, girl and chatbot I know for like… I dunno, a year?”

“Why would he need you to-”

“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers, Corduroy.” She beamed, holding his chin. “Not every guy has got your hair, or physique, or cute lil dimples when you smile-”

Kevin smirked. “Are you trying to do what Pacifica did? It’s cute, but I mean-”  
  
“Na, I’m way more charismatic.” Mabel winked and locked lips with the gappy-toothed teenager without a moment’s hesitation, something all too eagerly received by the Corduroy kid. The pair didn’t have that same level of boundaries (or, as Pacifica might call it, decency) when it came to their interactions. And any they did have was now completely splashed to the winds - scattered by the wayside. 

It was maybe testament to the more chaotic half of the Mystery Twins and the... _everything_ about the Corduroys that the two’s hesitations regarding the day’s events had very quickly fallen to the wayside in place of cuddling and kissing on the stairs, giggling and the odd tickle. 

Kevin was kind of surprised that the Pines hadn’t collided so much romantically before. It felt so natural. It felt so _right_. 

While Pacifica and Dipper were arguing over what microwave popcorn flavour to get in the kitchen, for Mabel and Kevin, it was… well, just Mabel and Kevin. It took a special guy that could leave Mabel Pines speechless, but she barely felt the need to speak with him around. She just held on, closing her eyes happily as she took in the best, damned situation she had ever been in. 

Y'know, ignoring the whole Clurichaun mobster thing. 

She kept reminding herself, pinching herself to break out of the dream she was certain she was in. But she wasn't. This was real. 

Mentally her list of relationships, with the ink still fresh, was gleefully marked off with Kevin at the very top, surrounded by puffy heart-shaped stickers with googly eyes. 

Mermando, Sidney, Reginald, Geraldine, Catherine, Nosfer, that girl with the false arm from the doughnut store… It was all water under the bridge. Which would have turned Nosfer into dust anyway. 

She looked into Kevin's eyes and smiled. "You know, I hope this moment lasts forever, Kevin."

"Heh. Me too. I mean, it can-" 

…Until Soos interrupted them. 

"Sorry dudes, but I gotta break up this sesh. Kevin, does your pop even know you're here, dude?" 

"Oh _, man_." Kevin gulped. "I completely forgot-" 

"Don't worry bro, we gotcha covered. We said you were doing survival training with Ford. But we better getcha back home."

"Soos, can you do me a favour?"

"Sure, dawg."

"Never tell Wendy. She'd never let me live it down."

"Bro, I am, like, the master of secrecy," Soos replied, straight-faced - before shoving a king-sized candy bar into his mouth. 


	18. The Ride Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

So, as insisted, Kevin was taken back home - after a particularly huge make out session from Mabel - and was soon sitting back in the tattered seats of Soos's pick-up truck, while the Pines tried to settle down. Poor Kevin wasn't entirely sure how he felt, himself. Today felt particularly crazy. Not even the normal level of crazy. 

He was a Corduroy. He could deal with the normal level of crazy. It was basically his family's thing. 

He had always known there was weird stuff going on in town. His Dad was one of the few who had never been 'wiped', perhaps out of fear for the town’s manliest man who ever manned - and it had much continued in that vein with the Corduroy family. 

But after encountering Bill Cipher, Cankerblight, Gnomes, Nymphs and a Clurichaun, his entire perspective on the world seemed to be changing. He was now wondering how much other stuff he had missed, what else Mabel must have seen, if he should pick up conspiracy magazines and, like, read up on it. Should he tell someone? What does it all mean? It didn't help that he was weirded out by Dipper’s tendency to listen in any time he even mentioned Wendy in passing. 

He bit his lip as the portly man drove him home, trying to distract himself by gazing out of the window at the angular pine trees and rugged mountains that made up his home town’s landscape. Attempting to comfort himself in the only place he’d ever really known - even trying to rationalise himself in the weirdness.

Perhaps it wasn’t as weird as it felt, and this was just something normal. Dipper and Mabel seemed fairly acclimated to it all by now. Even Pacifica seemed to be normalising it. Is that what he needed to do? Dive headfirst? Go full Dipper and Mabel mode?

He huffed as his eyes caught onto the unwieldy amounts of glowing eyes hidden in the woods. Were they always there, or- 

"You got the Pines symptoms, dude." Soos commented idly as he navigated out of the parking lot. "I've seen it before." 

"Huh?" 

"Yeah, bro. It starts with joining them on an adventure, helpin' investigate somethin', then you blink and you got sixty copies of _Cryptid Magazine_ and are planning to break into Area 51."

"...Are you planning to break into Area 51?"

"Dude, I'm _totally_ planning to break into Area 51!" Soos chuckled jovially as he spoke. "Imagine the exhibits in there, dawg!" 

"Soos, have you joined them on a lot of this stuff?"

"Oh yeah. Not like, as much as I'd like to, dude, but I gotta run a business and Melody wants me to keep both of my limbs until cybernetics come out."

"What's the freakiest thing, y'know, apart from Weirdmageddon?" 

"One time I saw Gideon Gleeful eat an entire jar of maple syrup because Mabel had touched it in a store. That was pretty weird."

Kevin wrinkled his nose. “I- I meant monsters and stuff.”

“Ooh, awkward. I guess you don’t want that jealousy bug, right? Between you an’ me, I think Mabel would love a guy gettin’ the jealousy bug over her. She’s like, romance cliche central, dawg.”

Kevin took mental notes while doing his best to make it look like he wasn't taking mental notes. Soos continued driving as he thought about the question. 

"In terms of monsters, bro, that's like, a bit of a strange principle. What's a monster? Who's a monster? Like, the scariest thing I've ever seen Is Abuelita in one of those tanning beds. You ever seen those things? Freakin' A, dude, it's like something from A Space Odyssey."

Soos continued trailing off into his anecdotes and nuggets of profound - albeit abstract - wisdom, as the pickup manoeuvred around a large group of stomach faced ducks, fighting over a bag of fresh _Mega Melter Poofy Doof Imitation Marshmallows_. Kevin raised an eyebrow. 

Where would a duck - let alone a stomach faced one - get a brand new bag of marshmallows? Those messed up birds were pretty much banned from town. Nobody liked them (mostly due to the view of their internal organs every time they quacked.) He watched as one of the ducks drop-kicked another in the sickeningly violent battle for the sugary gelatin treat. Usually he'd find that sort of thing hilarious, but he found himself more... Perplexed. 

Don’t ducks usually eat, like, bread? Or smaller ducks? Or grapes? Then waddle away?

It just seemed a bit odd to see them fighting tooth and nail for the equivalent of air, artificial sweetener and pig feet. 

His eyes remained fixed on them as they disappeared out of sight. 

"Those ducks crack me up, bro. I tried to keep up one as a pet when I was like, 9, but it tried to eat our cat." Soos chuckled to himself as he spoke - before his face dropped into one of stony sincerity. "We had to eat the duck first." 

Things fell quiet. 

"You uh… have quite a history, huh, Soos?" 

"Kevin, bro, this entire town is built of history from the people who live here. Like, Pacifica's family memoirs would be a wild read." Soos leaned over to the day-old milkshake sitting in his cup holder, maintaining his hands on the wheel with surprising tact."Everyone in this crazy place has a history. Your folks, my folks, Grenda's folks…" 

Kevin nodded absently, his attention now being arrested by a group of gnomes attempting to firebomb an ice cream truck. 

"Hell, bro, Dipper and Mabel's folks thought Gravity Falls would be a peaceful summer vacation. Can you imagine that, dude? This place is about as peaceful as my stomach after I eat four Baseball hot dogs in a row."

Kevin was now completely distracted. “You live in the shack all the time, right? Seen plenty of gnomes and stuff?”

“Yeah, bro. I’ve swapped things with one of them, y’know, for magic stuff.”

“Are they normally so violent?”

“I know what you’re saying.”

“You do?”

“No. What do you mean, dawg? I got completely distracted by the Manotaur trying to eat the Browniemobile.” 

“How do you like…manage to deal with this weird stuff so easily? It’s like you’ve always got blinkers on, Soos. Y’know - tunnel vision. Like you’re too busy dealing with your own stuff to see what’s going on around you.”

“Abuelita thinks it’s due to my creative mind.” Soos nodded. 

“Huh?”

“Yeah, dude. The doctor said I was borderline artistic, y’know?”

Kevin blinked. He considered saying something but was soon distracted by a flock of tree geese attempting to tear open a taco delivery wagon with their terrifying goose teeth.

It was a strange, strange ride home.


	19. Black and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Dipper opened his eyes slowly. 

It seemed that the film noir aesthetic of the Clurichaun mob had hit him a little harder than he realised. The world around him seemed to be painted into thick, inky shades of block shadow, big office blocks and tenements stood outside like gigantic dominos - ripping through the skyline like the very centre of hell was bursting out of the asphalt and just kept growing. The clouds were strangely static and clustered, with barely a spot of visible sunlight, thick wisps of steam rising from manholes and vents in the roads.

Rattling vintage cars peppered the roads, bubbling and spluttering as they rumbled through the city. The sound of the A-Train roared through the queer, spot-shaded landscape. 

He was wearing a waistcoat, and a trenchcoat was hanging on the wall. His lumberjack hat had been replaced with a peaked trilby. 

_When did Gravity Falls get an A-train? Freakin’ H, this is a pricklier situation than a porcupine climbin’ a cactus. I swear all I want is a decent cuppa joe an’ a slice’a cherry pie. This is like livin’ in one of those crazy old movies._

_The office is a beautiful one. It smells’a cognac an’ mahogany, th’sorta lifestyle ya’d usually pay to see in a freakin’ five star penthouse. But this ain’t no damned room for hire. No concierge, no busboy, it’s just me, an’ it’s exactly how I like it._

_My last partner walked out after his chin met my fist. The jerk insulted my stickin’ to th’book, so I threw the book at him. Crooked? Na, pal. I’m more straight an’ narrow than a New York sidewalk._

_I work alone, an’ nobody’s gonna change that. Ya think I want a partner? Nobody out here can understand me. An’ I don’t wannem to. My life is more trouble than th’entirety of the South Side quarter, an’ that place is more outta it than a Soothsayer smokin’ incense at a Crystal Convention._

_An’ I’ve seen that kinda junk. It’s my bread and butter. Th’foam on my rootbeer. The vanilla ice cream in my damned coke float. It’s my thing that gets my blood boiling, an’ right now, this shtick is makin’’ my ramen water pour onto th’stovetop._

_I’m a bit different than your usual detective. I don’t work with bean shooters, I work with my wits. I’m a wise-head, not some schmuck. No babes, no drinks, no rattlers. I just need a good book an’ my brain. Just me an’ my thoughts. Me an’ my nature._

_Of course, workin’ alone don’t mean workin’ for free. I’m a bit of a snoop for hire, see? An’ I don’t mean I spend my weekends singing bawdy tunes with gold chains on my throat. Someone needs some weirdness investigatin’ and pay cash up front, I’ll sit on the floor and bark._

_So I’m just sittin’ there, see, starin’ at my own ceiling for hours, brooding on the fact my sister is caught in a glitter smugglin’ scandal again, when this girl walks in._

_I dunno why, but almost by default I'm expectin' a beautiful blonde with money - lotsa it - an' a purple colour scheme. Don't ask me why. Just seems to be my expectation._

_The person who walks in though?_

_She ain't blonde. She's different._

_A dame with hair so red it’s like a freakin’ supernova, wearin’ only the finest flannel. She’s tall, she’s smirkin’, an’ she’s trouble._

_What a doll. I don’t think I’ve seen a gem shinin’ that brightly since I last went down to the hockshop to sell my Grunkle’s belongings. I try to hide my interest, but this broad already knows she’s got me around her little finger. I can see it in her eyes._

_“You Dipper Pines?”_

_“That’s what the door says, babe.”_

_“The door says ‘Dork’.”_

_I try to keep my damned poker face. I’ve never been great with poker._

_The spicy redhead just saunters in, sits on the desk and starts puttin’ on lipstick as if it’s nothing, blocking my paperwork and barely acknowledging me. She knows exactly what she’s doin’. You can’t pull the wool over the eyes of Dipper Pines, ace detective._

_“I need someone rubbing out, detective.”_

_A knock-off job wasn’t new territory for me, but it was a hairy biz. “I can do that, sweetstuff. But it’ll cost ya. Who’s the jerk?”_

_“This is the thing, ‘tec. I need_ **_you_ ** _rubbing out. This entire thing rubbing out.”_

_“What-”_

_“Why am I here and not Pacifica?”_

_“Hey, this ain’t in the detective movies-”_

_“You’re pathetic. You’re still wearing my hat after what, a year? You still have that box of photos of me somewhere too, don’t you? I bet part of you is still more into redheads than blondes.”_

_As if on cue, my peaked trilby turns into some sheepskin lumberjack number that smells like a freshly brewed cup of reality. Suddenly I swear this broad is wearin’ combat boots, and skinny jeans._

_To make matters worse? My manly tones and masculine accent are trippin’ up harder than my sister after six bags of smile dip and a packet of industrial-strength sprinkles. I’m startin’ ta stutter, my office is collapsin’ into some kinda crazy forest and the A-train has turned into some kiddy ride alongside a tourist trap that looks strangely familiar._

_Suddenly it feels like the real world is punching me in the face. I swear I was six foot tall earlier, and now I’m just… not._

_I’m a squeaky-voiced teenager with hormone issues. “That’s - that’s not true! I’m in love with Pacifica!”_

_Wendy snorted and cockily pointed to herself. “Yeah, sure, you love her - and you’re_ **_obsessed_ ** _with me.”_

_“That’s not true! Not anymore! I’m over it!”_

_“I know you still stare at me, Dipper. You think I’m dumb?”_

_“Stop! Shut up, Wendy! I’d never! I’m not gonna have some dumb crush!”_

_“”Dude, we both know how crushes work. You’d still drop everything for one - little - kiss.”_

_“This is wrong! This is crazy! It’s not true!”_

_“Remember my swimsuit?”_

_“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”_

_“You’re blushing, dude.”_

_“I can’t blush! This is in black and white!”_

_“You aren’t making any sense, Dipper.”_

_“You’re lying! My head is trying to trick me!!”_

_Then, the worst bit of all. A quiet, sassy, yet hurt voice echoing in my head. Back and forth. Revolving around me. A full surround sound of the girl I love most. The girl I was most afraid of hurting. The one I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Saying the same thing, over and over._

_In that same, really hurt, sad voice._

_I think that was the most haunting thing of all. The emotion. The fear. The sadness. I didn’t want to betray anyone at the best of times, but the girl who I had helped through the hardest parts of her life, the girl who had moved in with us because she thought we - I - was a safe bet for being happy._

_Maybe my family’s plans with the Fundhausers would have been better, Dipper._

_You told me you were over her, Dipper._

_You told me you were over her, Dipper._

_You told me you were over her, Dipper._

_You told me you were over her, Dipper._

_Over her, Dipper…_

_Over, Dipper…_

_Dipper…_

_Dipper..._

“Dipper! Dipper, wake up!” 

Dipper woke up suddenly with quite a start - not least a feeling of pure, unadulterated panic after what his slumbering mind had confronted him with. He flinched, his eyes suddenly going from closed to wide and fearful as he was confronted with a less than amused Pacifica.

Did she know? Oh nononono- Had he spoken in his sleep? Oh man-

“You were drooling on my shoulder, you dork!” She laughed, shoving him. “Gross!”

“S-sorry.” He gulped and wiped his cheek with a noticeably rattled hand. “N-nightmare.”

Pacifica’s face dropped as she watched him, falling from good-natured humour to one of genuine concern. “Hey, hey, it’s alright, y’know? I’m here.” 

“Y-yeah…” 

Dipper blinked as she hugged him tightly and stroked his hair gently - an earnest attempt to soothe him. No judgement. No mocking. 

“I get it, okay? I still get freaked out too, hon.”

Dipper bit his lip as his eyes darted around the room, genuinely panicking that it was all a trick or another dream, or that somehow people knew what was running around in his head. Genuine, out and out waking paranoia.

He took a deep breath, tried to turn off his over-active imagination…and hugged her back, tightly, burying his head in her neck. 

He was just being paranoid. This stuff didn’t mean anything, right? It was just a dream. A dumb dream. Pacifica wasn’t interested in Marius, and he wasn’t interested in Wendy. Even if he did still wear the Corduroy girl’s hat. 

...Why _did_ he still wear Wendy’s hat? I mean, it’s not like he still sniffed-

_Okay, don’t go down that route again, Dipper. Those are… those are probably questions for another time._

Dipper’s eyes adjusted to the darkness as he glanced at the white static on the television, then up at the clock hanging above it. 

3AM.

They had been cuddled up in the armchair for like, three and a half hours. It was warm, the gentle hiss from the vintage television providing a strangely… soothing soundtrack to the 

“We should probably go to our bedrooms, right?” He mumbled.

Pacifica smiled and held his cheek. “Na. I think you need the company”.

"I just dunno if I deserve it, sometimes…"

"Heh. I think the same about you. What's getting you down? Must have been some funky dream, Dip."

Dipper decided it best not to explain his somewhat disturbing dream scenarios revolving around Wendy. Like, it’s just some dumb dream. It’s nothing. He just had to like, shut it off and move on. He was over Wendy, Pacifica had no interest in Marius, it was all perfect…

Right?

Yeah, _right_. 

He huffed and rubbed his somewhat stiff neck as he looked at his girlfriend, still sitting astride his lap with a caring, reassuring smile. “Pacifica…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I didn’t intend to, you dork. You’ve got me for life.”

The two cuddled back up together, settling back down into the warm, comfortable darkness of the shack, with a wide smile on her face - and an increasingly weak one on his. While Pacifica slowly dozed back off, he just couldn’t. 

He felt like he was going into overdrive.

He couldn’t help but glance at the calendar and cringe. Summer was nearly over. He knew it, Pacifica knew it, Mabel knew it - and he still felt like he was loaded with baggage. As much as he loved mystery hunting, he had to admit it made confronting these personal demons pretty difficult.

How could he fight against the Underworld with one breathe and tell Pacifica how he was feeling with the other? It just wasn’t reasonable. He knew she had consistently said she loved him as he was, that she was happy, that she was comfortable…

But they hadn’t spoken to Marius then. 

They hadn’t known she was meant to _marry_ Marius then.


	20. The Big Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The morning came quickly, and did so with a fierce light through the lounge’s window, beating into Dipper’s eyes with mocking cruelty. Pacifica was nuzzled up against his chest, the empty bowl of popcorn was being licked clean by Waddles, and they could hear Ford and Stanley going through their usual early morning arguments in the kitchen. 

It was hot. Probably one of the hottest days of the summer so far. Dipper cursed to himself as he noticed the sweat patches under his arms. Man, what a great thing for Pacifica to wake up to. Him soaking wet and stinking to high heaven. 

He stretched and groaned, trying not to disturb her. Sleeping in the armchair made his back hurt. At least three springs were jabbing into his shoulder blades and he was pretty sure there was something moving inside the old furniture's frame.

He just presumed Stan was used to it. Or already had a terrible spine to such an extent that it simply melded around the faulty structure. Hell, Dipper figured that he was a comfier bed than the chair was, considering how soundly Pacifica was slumbering against him.

"You kids better start getting ready." Ford smiled, holding his extra large coffee cup. "Kevin's already on his way."

"Give.. Give us a second, Grunkle Ford." Dipper replied. "It was a long night."

"You know your Grunkle and I don't approve of you two sleeping in here. It's becoming a habit."

"We just dozed off!" 

"I appreciate you two are close, Mason, but you're both going through a pretty turbulent stage of your life. It's easy for these things to lead somewhere." Ford replied. "Hell, I remember in high school I did quite the same."

"Grunkle Ford, seriously. It's literally just when we're watching movies."

"You seriously want me to believe you've watched this film repeatedly, in earnest, over the past few weeks?" 

"W-we have!" 

"I'd bet a mathematics degree against it, Dipper." Ford chuckled, holding up his hand to silence his great-nephew. "Not another word. I think it's wonderful that you both get along so well, and I hope it lasts - but you need to follow the rules while you're in the same household."

Dipper muttered something under his breath. It didn't go unnoticed. Ford twisted his lip - but knew better than to pursue it too aggressively. “Now, Stanley’s told me exactly what you have on the cards today, and I need to run you through a few things.”

Pacifica opened an eye, rolled it, and closed it again - all in one quick, unbroken and unnoticed motion. She smirked as Stanford began sounding exactly like Dipper probably will in a few years.

“Number one: If you can get in contact with the Knocker down there, you’d do well to do so. I’ve arranged his bag of… weird British candy already.”

Dipper nodded, beginning to look somewhat more determined. 

“Number two: Don’t get caught. If you can use the Knocker’s tunnels, do so. He might let you. You should be treating this as a knowledge-gathering mission, Dipper. Not a ‘topple the Clurichauns in a single swoop’ mission. Do I make myself clear?”

“Wait, you aren’t coming?”

“Not this time. If the Clurichauns have rebuilt anything in The Crawlspace, it’ll be for their height. You kids are much more likely to fit - both literally and figuratively - in there than your Grunkle Stanley and I.”

“But-”

“We’ll run a command centre for you. Give you walkie talkies, give you advice when required, you know the drill.”

“What will you two be doing?”

“I just told you, running the command centre,” Ford replied pointedly - even a little defensively - As he sipped his coffee.

Things went quiet for a moment - but it didn’t last. There was a low rumbling as, outside the shack, a huge flatbed truck arrived with the **_Stan O’ War_ **nestled on its trailer, surrounded by crates, fabric and lumber. Ford tried to maintain an innocent smile as the enormous vehicle bleated its horn. 

The driver leaned out of his cab side window, a bulbous, saggy-faced man of limited teeth and even more limited tact. “Oi, buddy! I’ve got your boat and your do-it-yourself-boat-upgrade kit!”

Ford rolled his eyes.

“And your instruction manual.” He added, glancing at his clipboard. “ _How to Design Ship’s Quarters for a Teenager._ Is that right, pal?”

The older man rubbed his temples as the round trucker clambered out of his wagon and leaned in through the window. He tried his damndest not to acknowledge the less than subtle trucker. 

The trucker rested his arm on the window ledge, chewing gum with his mouth open. “Hey, buddy, I’m gonna need a signature here.” 

The scientist conceded and clicked his pen. “Yes, yes, of course…” 

“Is the two tons of shipping grade lumber yours too, pal?”

“Whose else would it be?!”

“And the wholesale box of Nyum’s Jelly Beans?”

“Alright, that one you can leave on the porch.”

“My favourite flavour’s the lime, myself.” Replied the amiable driver. 

“Good taste, my man.” Ford smiled, politely - and a more forced polite smile, Dipper was certain he had never seen. “Just unload the rest of the goods in the car park.”

“You mean the boat?”

“...Yes, the boat.”

“The boat you’ve also bought modifications for?”

“Yes-”

“The boat you’re planning to start modifying today in the parking lot, hence why I’m deliverin’ it here?”

Ford held his face in his hands as the man from _Exposition Couriers_ stood there innocently, picking his nose. 

“Oh. Was the boat modification a secret? Sorry, bub. I’ll shut up.” The portly, hairy man got to work undoing the numerous clip-ties and bungee cords stabilising the explorer vessel and preparing it to unload. 

Ford tried to maintain his innocent smile, but could now - at least - recognise the futility of trying to do so. “We’ve - uh - got a project to work on.”

Pacifica giggled and immediately tried to pretend she didn’t. 

“Great, and an eavesdropping Northwest.” Ford chuckled. 

Pacifica finally submitted and opened her eyes. “You two are way too similar. Awkward, terrible at keeping secrets…”

“Devilishly handsome?” Dipper added in, hopefully, in a sudden burst of confidence.

Both Ford and Pacifica gave him a funny look. 

“Aaaanyway.” Ford continued. “Do those instructions make sense? Just because I shan’t be there, I expect you both to act as if I were.”

“Like, do you think you’re our teacher or something? We act the same whether we’re with you or not, Ford.”

“Then it’ll be a flawless, easy, and perfectly organised day trip for you both.” the old scientist replied, indignantly. “I look forward to all of you coming back _safe_ , _sound_ and with a ton of knowledge.”

Pacifica wrinkled her nose. “I mean, what, us not dying is the standard?”

“In this town? That’s pretty impressive.” Dipper shrugged. “Let’s uh… let’s get ready. I think I might need a shower.”

Ford was about to confirm that, indeed, Dipper needed a shower - when the amiable albeit over-expository driver turned up once again to the window.

“Hey, do you guys know a man called Soos? He lives around these parts with a tourist thingy goin' on. Pretty sure he's my second cousin or first cousin or nephew or… Somethin'."

"That explains a lot," Ford mumbled to himself, before replying in a far more welcoming tone. "He lives in the luxury Airstream. Please, feel free to chat with him after you've _done your job."_

The trucker beamed, earnest and enthusiastic. “Oh, I’m all over that, buddy. Give me, like, six shakes of a bungee cord and you’ll be all ready for your ship modific- _secret_ ship modification. Thanks, pal!”

Ford, Dipper and Pacifica just exchanged an unamused glance - before splitting up to get ready for the mission: **The return to The Crawlspace.**

Upstairs, Mabel was hard at work. Brushing her hair, painting her nails, picking her sweatshirt, all to the lively tunes of _Not-Quite-In-Sync_. Bubblegum scented sprays abound, star-shaped earrings, the full shebang. 

By her count, this was the first official monster hunt with Kevin Corduroy, and she was damned well going to make it one to remember. She was going to blow him _away_ , and he was going to _love it_ , and they were going to _kiss_ , and they were going to get _married_ , and move into a house shaped like a _cat_ , and own several cats, and have lots of cat _toys_ and- 

And she couldn’t wait for him to turn up at their doorstep, so her whirlwind summer romance could continue in style. With lots of glitter and her bestest sweater. And she might even get to punch a Clurichaun. What wasn’t to like?

She might even take Waddles!

Na...They might be a pair of twins - one with an amazing intellect and fashion sense, the other being Dipper - a teenage lumberjack with a quiff and one of North America’s most valuable young socialites… but a pig?

Ridiculous. 

This was a serious mission. 

And she was gonna kick tiny mobster _butt_. 


	21. Man Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

“You’re wearing a beanie?”

Pacifica’s remark wasn’t unexpected. To see Dipper Pines in any new outfits was an oddity. To see him change it up with headgear was utterly bizarre. Him even removing his hat was strange. It was like it was part of him. His personal iconography. Before the night of the lumberjack ghost she didn’t even realise he took that cap off. 

Now the same was true of the lumberjack headgear - at least, since the end of last summer. And that hat? That hat was Wendy’s. He _loved_ that hat. That hat was _important_ to him.

For her to see him suddenly deciding to put on a beanie? That was odd. She wrinkled her nose as she watched him slip it on over his impressively unkempt hair. 

Dipper shrugged as he pulled the knitted hat down over his head. “I- uh - I just feel like a change, y’know? Mixing it up a bit-”

“Dipper, from what Mabel tells me you haven’t taken that thing off in like, 11 months.”

“Pft, please. I don’t get attached to hats and stuff like that.”

“Sure, just like you’re not attached to wearing shorts.” 

“Hey, I’m just playing a long game with these. I like letting my knees breath, and they’ll be trendy again one day. Just watch.”

“Right... Who wrote the fashion column?”

“Look, I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’m a busy guy. I can’t focus on dressing as well as you.”

“Hey, you have aliens and ghosts, I have fashion.” She grinned. “That’s why I’m so surprised to see _you_ thinking about changing _yours_.”

Dipper huffed a little. "Look, you just said you liked the beanie, so I'm going with the beanie.”

“But you love Wendy’s hat.”

“I d-don’t _love_ Wendy’s hat, I just-”

“Dipper, are you sure everything’s okay?”

Dipper was less than happy with the fact Pacifica had gotten so good at reading him. He had always kinda dreamed of being that brooding, mysterious hero. Clearly that wasn’t working out. He just nodded. 

“If it isn’t, you’re gonna have to tell me, hon. I’m here for you, y’know?”

“It’s nothing, really. I j-just figure it’s time I put things from the past down and, like, kept moving forward.”

“Well, that sounds great,” Pacifica smiled, holding his cheek. “But-”

A knock at the door sounded downstairs, prompting Mabel to squeal and hammer down the stairs eagerly, followed enthusiastically by Waddles the pig - who didn’t particularly know what was happening, but loved running with Mabel. 

“He’s here he’s here he’s here he’s here!!” She shouted excitedly, hopping, skipping and jumping to the door in what could only be labelled as unbridled enthusiasm.

Dipper watched his sister’s frantic behaviour with eyebrows raised, but very little real surprise. “Man, she’s really into Kevin.”

“I wish you acted like that whenever I knocked on the shack’s door.” Pacifica grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen even _your_ sister _that_ happy.”

Dipper nodded as Mabel opened the door - then, he immediately froze. Kevin wasn’t standing there. Instead, there was Wendy. Wendy Corduroy. The sixteen year old redhead of Dipper’s dreams. Literally. Somehow the events of that night had made his reaction to her ten times stronger, ten times tenser, ten times more panicked.

And she didn’t look like her cool, calm self either. Truth be told, she looked furious, a little battered and bruised - like she had been roughed up.

”Wendy! Ohmigosh, are you okay?!” Mabel panicked - then blinked. “Wait. Where’s Kevin?”

Wendy limped in, holding her arm, seemingly more irritated by the attack than she was particularly upset. “I dunno what you guys have been up to, but Kevin’s in _trouble_. We just got ambushed by a group of tiny mobsters with pellet guns, dude.”

“I-is he okay?!” Mabel gasped and grabbed Wendy’s arms. “Tell me he’s okay!”

“I don’t _know_ if he’s okay, man! They beat us both up and took him! Is your brother home?” 

Mabel blinked, her eyes wide, and pointed up the stairs. 

Dipper cleared his throat. “H-hey.”

Wendy leaned on the doorframe and looked up at him. “I need your help.”

For a moment, Dipper’s mind flashed back to that damned dream. He winced as he briefly imagined Wendy back into that film-noir setting, her fearful gaze turning into a knowing smile… 

_Dammit, pack it in, Dipper._

“What… what actually happened?” He asked as he stepped downstairs. 

“These weird little mobster guys came up to us in a load of those little battery-powered kiddy cars, cordoned us off and just… pounced, man. It was crazy. They were brutal. I’ve been kicked, punched, bitten-” 

“And Kevin?!” Mabel asked, in renewed panic. “Did they touch his hair?!”

Wendy gave Mabel a funny look. “They just knocked him out and tied him up. Dragged him behind one of the kiddy cars. And these things must have gone zero to forty in six seconds. It’s some kinda custom job. These aren’t just normal goblin things, they’re organised. Someone’s telling them to do this junk.”

“Well, we’re familiar with this stuff now.” Dipper said. “We know they’re down in the Crawlspace.”

“The creepy underground place? I thought you guys had blown it up?”

“Let’s face it, in this town things never stay ‘blown up’. Or ‘dead’. Or anything, really.”

There was a pause. A sort of an awkward stalemate. Dipper was inwardly panicking, Mabel was _outwardly_ panicking, Wendy was somewhat occupied with getting revenge on the Clurichauns, Pacifica was pretty much ready to go and Waddles was chewing on the armchair. 

“Guess you’d better come with us.” Pacifica added. “You know Kevin better than anyone.”

Mabel was less than pleased with the statement. She took it as personally offensive. Kevin was, as far as she was concerned, her most intimate partner _ever_. And that means she was an _expert_. Even if it had been less than a _week_. “Hey! I know him super well!”

“Dude, I grew up with him.”

“And I grew up _waiting_ for him!” Mabel replied.

Wendy rolled her eyes and smirked, giving Mabel a slap on the back. “Man, the Pines and the Corduroys falling madly in love. Who’d have thought that’d ever happen, right?” 

Dipper’s face dropped. _Ouch_. Wait, why should that matter? It didn’t. Why are you saying ‘ouch’, Dipper? 

It was almost a surprise when Pacifica wrapped her arm around Dipper’s waist and smiled at him reassuringly. He glanced at her, flushing a delicate shade of salmon pink and - wondering, for a moment, if Pacifica kinda _got_ how he felt. 

She mouthed “you okay?” to him silently.

He just gave an appreciative nod - and pulled her a little closer. 

He was okay. In his mind, he had to be. Big strong Dipper, right? Maybe not _detective_ Dipper, but he could manage the other two.

Maybe. 

Ford had been listening - in a characteristically dramatic stance, drinking his coffee. “Sounds like the mission has changed to a rescue one. Guess it’ll be a lot more dangerous than anticipated.” 

“If you’re going to rescue my brother, I’m coming with you.” Wendy nodded, fiercely. “Besides, I want ‘em to know not to mess with a Corduroy.” 

“You got it, future sister-in-law!” Mabel beamed. “It’s time for a **Pinesduroy payback!** ”

There was a pause. 

“Please don’t call us that,” Wendy replied, firmly.


	22. Old Ground, New Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The route to The Crawlspace that the family now seemed to use fairly regularly - that being the one Soos had swapped Shmebulock for - had long since lost its charm for Pacifica. Truth be told, she despised the fact they were going back down there, even if it was for the sake of Kevin Corduroy.

I mean, in the end, he made Mabel beyond happy and had helped with the whole Cankerblight and Bill thing - they kinda owed him. He was a good guy. Clearly thought the world of the kitten obsessed, sweater donning twin. 

But she _hated_ this place. It seemed like it was becoming a regular fixture for them to go back down there - to the increasingly decrepit wreck that they had caused. 

Their lack of hindsight was what, in essence, had created this surge of miniature crime in the first place. She knew it, Dipper knew it, and Mabel knew it. They weren't dumb or arrogant enough to ignore the reality of the situation. 

They had made a mistake, even if it was to out Cankerblight's little scam, and for the greater good, it had done little to benefit the town. After all, it had largely involved blowing up a street, mind wiping the mayor and causing a nearly week long blackout. Not exactly your typical heroism. 

And what for? To get rid of some snow globes with a built in marketing strategy? 

Man, when she thought of it like that, it was all kinda dumb. 

"You alright?" Wendy asked her as she strolled confidently alongside. 

"Yeah. Bad memories." Pacifica mumbled. 

"Yeah, I get what you mean. Not the nicest place."

"Not the nicest people, either. If we're gonna get Kevin back, we'll probably have to get rid of the entire mob." Dipper said. 

The radio sticky taped onto his arm crackled. "Dipper, try and _reduce_ collateral damage. Not cause it."

"Ford," came the inevitable protest from Dipper, "These guys have captured one of us! We can't just pretend this stuff is okay! It could be one of us next time-"

"Yeah!" Mabel shouted. "And they might have ruined his hair!" 

"If these guys are kidnapping guys and burning restaurants, they need dealing with." Wendy piped in. "And nobody messes with a Corduroy."

"Yeah, dude. You gotta get pictures for the shack too, dawg. Maybe, like, put 'em in some funny poses."

Everyone froze as, behind them, Soos was following, still in his Mr. Mystery uniform and carrying a soda can, as if it was nothing. 

"Hey, dudes."

"Soos…" Dipper sighed and held the bridge of his nose. "Why are you-" 

"Dude, you can't keep me outta a rescue mission. I'm like, rescue mission alpha. I can do this junk, _and_ I've seen more movies." He took a long slurp of his soda. "Plus, Wendy didn't even book the day off. She knows that the gift shop is where the margins are. No gift shop? No openin' day."

"Dude, my brother is down there. Isn't that grounds for compassionate leave?" 

"Dawg, if my Guinea pig was down here, it'd be compassionate leave. I think a missin' brother is like, super-compassionate leave. Like, if we get outta here, I'll give you like a six buck bonus."

"Six bucks?" 

"Seven. On a Shack gift card. Don't be a schmuck, money don't grow on trees."

"Soos, are you listening to Stan on an earpiece?" 

Soos blinked, festooned in wires with a radio antenna poking out of his Fez. A muffled, gravelly voice was saying 'code red' repeatedly in his ear. "Nawwww…"

At the end of the tunnel, there was a large, crude painting of the Crawlspace's wreckage, blocking the view of what laid beyond in a poster paint and watercolour doodle - one so poorly painted that even Mabel refused to entertain the idea of falling for it. 

Pacifica blinked and cocked her head. "Um. Wow. I thought these guys were organised?" 

"I mean, it's a pretty big painting." Mabel rubbed her chin as she took on her art critique expertise. "Gotta be pretty organised to paint that."

"This is like something a ten year old would have thought up." The Northwest heir replied, flicking her hair. It nearly went into Dipper's face, prompting him to flinch as if it was a whip. "What sort of mob tries to cover up their HQ with a giant drawing?" 

"Bro, reminds me of them cartoons. With Smart A. Jackal tryna catch the Kiwi bird? Man, I used to love those guys."

"Guess the big man is a fan of cartoons." Dipper shrugged.

Wendy rubbed the back of her still aching head. "Well, what're we gonna do?" 

"I'm not sur-" 

"HEEEYAAH!" Shouted Mabel as she ran directly into the painting, ripping through the flimsy watercolour paper, armed with Wendy's axe, as if she was a viking invader storming through an English church. 

"Well, I mean, I guess that works." Pacifica said, simply, strolling after Mabel's trail of carnage. 

"I thought we were trying to be stealthy?!" Dipper tried to protest - but it was no good. Everyone walked past him contently - straight into another deserted, pitch black tunnel of… 

Well, nothing. 

The family stood still, trying to work out their next avenue, blinded by the pitch black conditions, no longer able to differentiate entrance to exit. 

They fell into a fearful silence, scared to even step. Could there be a bottomless pit? A watch dog? Sharp spikes in the floor? 

Soos was, as characteristic, first to break the tense silence. "Dude, any of you guys seen _Minnesota Jones_? The adventurer movies? He was in a tunnel like this. Might be useful."

"Yeah? What happened?" 

"Well, it turned out to be full of poisonous snakes- oh. Oh wait. No. Probably a-heh-probably a bad precedent, right dudes?" 

The radio crackled with the sound of Ford protesting. " _Venomous. They'd be venomous!_ "

Pacifica cringed. "Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes."

"Oh dude, you've seen it?!" 

Pacifica was about to point out her remark was in earnest when a dim, golden light started to swing towards them from one of the dank tunnels beyond. 

  
“Who goes there?”

Dipper recognised the voice immediately and cringed. He was pretty sure that was the last thing he needed. The gentle, Northern-European tones of Marius Von Fundhauser were unmistakable, and, to his ears, entirely unpleasant. 

Of all the things Dipper had to deal with today, he was most against the idea of dealing with them alongside the handsome epaulet baron with a suspected Histrionic complex. He almost instinctively stepped in front of Pacifica, as if to guard her from the oncoming assault of charm. 

The diminutive fortune-top-fiftier blinked as he emerged from view. He smiled warmly and stepped towards them. “The Pines! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He bowed respectfully and offered a handshake. The reaction was most likely not what he was seeking. 

Mabel’s response was quick, visceral, and painful. She met Marius with a swift sock to the jaw. 

**_THWACK!_ **

“I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy!” She barked. “Where’s Kevin?! Where are you keeping him?! Are you the big man?! How DARE you kidnap my boyfriend!”

Wendy recoiled with a surprised grin, immediately getting pumped up. “Boom! Show him who’s boss, Mabel!”

Marius was wide-eyed and panicked. If he wasn’t used to people standing up to him, he definitely wasn’t used to chipper thirteen-year-olds punching his chin. He stared fearfully at her. “N-no! No, I swear! I just wanted to see this place for myself, that’s all!”

“Yeah? Yeah?! Does Grenda know you’re here?!”

“She doesn’t-”

**_THWACK!_ **

“How DARE you not tell Grenda about what you’re doing!” Mabel shouted. “Why do all of you super-rich people stink?! - Sorry, Pacifica.”

“No, no, you’ve got a point.” The Northwest heir replied with a shrug.

“Y-you don’t understand!” Marius stammered. “I had to keep Grenda out of this, for her safety! Please, please, let me explain!”

“How DARE you ask me to let you-” Mabel’s fist, this time, was grabbed by Soos.

“Hambone, not that seeing people get punched _isn’t_ funny, but I think we should hear him out.”

“T-thank you.” Marius huffed, dusting down his jacket. “After we spoke at the club, Pacifica, your words, your stories - they awoke something within me-” 

Dipper seethed and readied his own fist. 

“They awoke memories, Pacifica! Reminded me that our names, our families, we were destined to make beautiful investments together!”

Pacifica raised an eyebrow and stared at the young magnate, completely bewildered - and not sure how she was meant to react to the strange master’s ramblings. She could sense Dipper’s ever-diminishing patience as equally as the group’s diminishing discomfort. 

She opted not to bring up the betrothment thing. Who knew how weird the guy would get over that stuff? If he didn’t already know. That’d maybe explain his simpering nature and gushing over their families. 

It was more irritating than it was particularly flattering. She kind of wanted to punch him in the jaw, herself. 

“I think our families worked together to bring this wonderful project to life! I- I might finally discover more about my family name, Pacifica! And it’d be thanks to you and your wonderful family!”

"My family was not wonderful, Fundhauser. And believe me, if we were involved, you don't wanna know. Nothing good comes from it."

"I understand." Marius replied. "I, too, worry about not suiting their legacy. Perhaps we are but minor roles in a grand, grand heritage-" 

"Man, I'm regretting telling 'em to hear him out." Soos muttered to Wendy. 

"Come on, man." Wendy said out loud, with far less tact. "Get your head out of your butt! This place is nothing but bad news." 

Marius continued with his fervour. He was clearly somebody with a knowledge of theatrics. "It may have fallen into the wrong hands, but we could make it great again! Polish it into a subterranean city, fit for a king! We just have to get rid of the unpleasantness!" 

"Marius. This place isn't ours to take charge of." Dipper replied, his voice dripping with a deep-seated resentment. It seemed an octave lower and a whole world beyond his usual attitude. "You can't just wade in and try to take over this stuff, man, this is our territory!" 

"Then why are you all here, if not reclaim it?”

“To find Kevin!” Mabel replied. “Duhh! How much more do I need to say it?!” 

Marius winced as he rubbed his jaw. “A kidnapping? By who?”

“By a tiny mob.” Pacifica replied, seemingly accepting - and submitting to - the ridiculous nature of the situation. “Y’know, fedora and cigar style. American Mobster.” 

Marius raised an eyebrow. “And...why would they kidnap this… Kevin?”

“We kinda traumatised one of their members, dude.” Soos grinned. “Like, full on terror. We like, broke him, dawg.”

“Ah. revenge. Well, I’ll happily join in the rescue mission!” Marius beamed heroically, his hair floating in the breeze of the underground tunnels as he posed. “A Fundhauser never steps down from a fight for what’s just!”

Dipper snorted and rolled his eyes. “Is that why you were so scared of my sister’s fist?”

“I don’t come into underground tunnels expecting to be attacked!” Marius protested. 

“You often come into underground tunnels?”

Marius raised an eyebrow, the joke seemingly flying over him. “Well, I-”

“Come on, guys. Leave _Mario Von Plumbhauser_ to think it over.” 

Pacifica, Mabel, Wendy and Soos exchanged concerned glances at Dipper’s sudden change of temperament - but followed, obediently, into the darkness. Marius paused with his nose wrinkled, then took a deep, distinguished breath, wiped his epaulette and followed them - still rubbing his sore chin as the darkness wrapped around them, his bullseye lantern rocking back and forth as he navigated the rough-hewn floor below his fine leather boots.

The familiar, musty smell of The Crawlspace was already rising up the nostrils of those who knew it. The foreboding darkness, compared to the fear of what they might find, was almost a relief. A comfort. 

As long as there weren’t venomous snakes.


	23. High Tensions and Low Elevations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The group had been walking for what felt like hours. Though it mostly felt that way due to the awkward, stony silence Dipper had adopted in Marius’s presence.

“You okay?” Pacifica whispered. 

“I can’t believe he had to be here. Of all the people. Gideon would have been better.”

“Hey, I get it, but you could at least try to be friendlier. I’m pretty sure he’s not involved-”

“He wants to get involved with you, that’s all I need.”

“Pretty sure Grenda’s more his type.”

Dipper rolled his eyes and huffed. “Look, I’m sorry, but- _man_ , he irritates me.”

“He’s friendly enough, Dip.”

“ _Too_ friendly. The jerk.”

“If nothing else, it might be useful having him here, right?”

“Sure. I’m sorry, I just-”

“Hey.” Pacifica smiled and stopped him, holding his cheek. “Relax. Nothing’s getting in the way of us. I promise.” 

Dipper glanced momentarily to Wendy as she helped the others climb up the increasingly steep slope - then back to Pacifica. He hesitated for longer than he cared to consider, then broke into a wide smile and dropped his guard, if only for a moment. 

“You’re amazing, Pacifica.” 

“Heh. I guess that must be new.” Pacifica beamed, holding his waist. “Maybe I got it from you, you dork.”

They smiled, and leaned closer, wordlessly, closing their eyes - only for the torch of Soos’s cellphone to break that moment of solace. The entire group interrupted them, with Mabel and Wendy both eagerly teasing them with dog-whistles and cheering. 

The two blushed furiously.

“Don’t stop on our accord, guys.” Wendy grinned, waving away the situation. “I get it, sometimes you gotta break off-”

“And shoot for tonsil tennis!” Mabel piped in, prompting Wendy to crack up into hysterics. 

“Guys, this is a serious thing.” Dipper snapped back. “Keep it together!”

“We can tell it’s getting serious, Dip!” Wendy grinned, shooting finger guns at the couple. 

Even Pacifica giggled at that one. For Dipper, who was going through a pile of concerns of his own, it was only more humiliating to see Wendy egging it on, in leagues with his sister. It wasn’t made much better by Marius’s vacant, stupid smile as he stood politely, waiting for them to move on. 

Dipper gritted his teeth, resisting his instincts to blame everything on him, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. 

Soos rubbed his chin - what little chin he had, in the place of his neck. “Dudes, I get that this romance stuff is like, cute city - but what exactly are we lookin’ for? We can’t see junk.” 

“We just need a fairly solid surface.” Mabel said, animatedly, skipping over to one of the firmer-looking stone walls.“Then we can knock for the Knocker!”

“Let’s not knock for the Knocker.” Pacifica replied.

“Imma knock for the Knocker!” 

“Seriously, don’t-”

But it was too late. The overly-cheerful - and fiercely determined - teenager rapped her hand against the limestone in a musical rendition of nothing in particular. It knocked gently, revealing - to their surprise - that the wall was hollow. An impressively detailed, realistic facade that sounded more like plywood than it did stone. 

“Guess they learnt how to paint.” Pacifica said. 

“Guess they ripped out half of the Knocker’s tunnels.” Mabel added, bitterly.

“One thing to thank them for.” Huffed the Northwest heir. 

All the same, they waited for him, confident that the Cornish wall-dweller would show himself.

A moment passed, then another, then another. Soos sniffed his fingers while they waited for the old Knocker to finally arrive. 

They were surprised when that was specifically what _didn’t_ happen. Instead, Jeff the gnome hopped out of a little door, shut it behind him and strolled along pleasantly with a bag over his shoulder, whistling a jolly tune.

He walked past them happily, then froze as the penny dropped. Sure, it took about a minute and a half, but the end result, ultimately, was one and the same. “Oh _man_. How do you guys keep managing to get involved with private gnome stuff?”

“Probably because you seem to have a different grift every week.” Pacifica snarked, rolling her eyes. 

“This isn’t a grift, we’re just customers!”

“Customers for what?” Dipper asked, his eyes narrowing. 

“...Gotta go.” Jeff replied, running off as fast as his tiny legs would carry him. “I - I have to make dinner for my sparrow-wife!”

Soos stepped in front of him with his arms crossed and lifted the bag out of Jeff’s hands with minimal effort. “This better be kosher, dude. I know the sorta things people buy in underground rackets and I don’t wanna see it spreadin’.”

“Please, you don’t understand, we need this! We _need_ this!!”

Soos looked in the bag, and stared, his face contorting into a glare of pure, unadulterated disapproval. “My god, dude. How did you fall so far?”

“What? What is it?!” Dipper, Pacifica and Mabel tried to fight for a glance as Soos and Wendy glared at the gnome. 

There, inside the canvas bag, there was a generous bundle of brownies. Still warm. Alluringly scented. Packed with dark chocolate and strawberries. Pacifica almost immediately recognised them. 

Jeff winced and awkwardly twisted his foot on the floor. “Please don’t tell my sparrow-wife.”

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” Pacifica replied. “These are from the Seafood Restaurant that burnt down the other day.”

Dipper raised an eyebrow. “Huh? How do you know?”

“They’re practically the only decent thing that place sold. I’d recognise them from a mile away.”

“Dude, she’s totally right.” Soos added, having already started eating one. “I’m pretty sure I can pick up a tiny hint of French seafood preparation gloves, fine Belgian chocolate from four beans, local strawberries, a taste of gluten-free flour for that perfect texture-”

The kids were immediately impressed. Not often that a dessert connoisseur performed their art to an audience - and this, this was like a watercolour in motion. A beautiful portrait of a brownie. An oil painting of its life from cocoa-field to plate. 

“Man, you can really pick that up from one bite?” Mabel stared, holding her cheeks in unbridled awe. “That’s amazing, Soos!!”

“Mabel, Soos can tell which cocoa bean picker has been involved with his favourite candy bar. He started a pen-pal friendship with one of them, once.” Wendy smiled. “They almost got married a few years back.”

“She was my first true love.” Soos nodded. “Until the uprising. There was no time for war, then. Only _revolucion_ and bloodshed.” 

“What happened?”

“I think she took over a small country near the Dominican Republic. Small thing, y’know? 300-man army, palace by the sea, a freeze-dried coffee biz. She still sends me Christmas Cards.”

Dipper blinked. “Huh. Nice.” 

The rest of the time murmured in agreement and nodded appreciatively. The bizarre - albeit strangely profound - romantic anecdote had led to them almost forgetting the plight of Jeff and his apparent dealing in illegal pastries. 

Until he jumped up, grabbed the bag and scarpered off down the tunnel, disappearing into the darkness. “I didn’t have anything to do with burning restaurants, I’m just a customer! Take it up with the Big Man! I’m just a little man! A _little man!!”_

“Heh. He _is_ a little man.” Mabel smiled with hands on her hips. “You gotta give him that, right?”

“Guess the entrance to The Crawlspace is through that cute little door.” Soos said, tapping it with his foot. “Any guesses how to get through the rest?”

All eyes fell to Wendy, who pulled out her axe and spun it in her hand with a wide grin. “You want me to do it clean, or go full on Corduroy?”

“Hey, we won’t judge.” Dipper grinned - attempting to shoot finger guns with the wrong fingers. And desperately hoping nobody would notice after he realised. 

Marius tried to speak up in protest - but it was too late. The plywood facade inside the network of Crawlspace tunnels had fallen victim to the wrath of a Corduroy scorned. There was only chaos. Chaos, splinters, and the sound of crashing lumber. 

Deep in the hollows beyond, they could already hear tiny, strong-accented tones exclaiming in surprise and anger. The Clurichauns were no doubts busy - but the noise of a busy Corduroy with her axe was practically enough to raise the dead. (and had once, in 2010). 

Tiny motors could be heard, an overflow of commotion, and a sudden jettison of fairies, nymphs, manotaurs and gnomes. The mob was clearing out and preparing for invasion. 


	24. Brain vs Chaun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Wendy was a demon when she got going with that axe. Dipper couldn’t help but be hopelessly impressed by the sheer strength of the flannel-addled teenager as she cut, sliced and thwacked her way through that solid sheet of board as if it was little more than the paper they had encountered only a short while before.

Chips flew, splinters scattered, and the odd woodworm flew by, screaming in earnest terror - thrown to the breeze that seemed to perpetually travel through those dark, foreboding burrows that made up the subterranean nightmare-world of The Crawlspace. 

By the time the lump of axe-bound plywood fell to the floor, of course, word had spread.

Mabel and Pacifica both gasped at the sight that sat ahead of them. 

There must have been hundreds. Perhaps a thousand. However many there were, there were too many.

They were confronted by an enormous convoy of tiny jalopies, each one overladen with a cluster of Clurichauns, pointing miniature Tommy guns. They were all manners of shape and size, squared off at the shoulders by their natty dress-sense and wide tough-guy stances. 

A stout, broad-shouldered miniature gangster strutted out slowly, flipping a coin in his tiny, leather glove addled hand, his face so still and cold that one could swear it was rough-hewn from granite. His jaw was like a brick - his nose sharp and crooked, and his glare only more so. 

He tipped up his wide brim hat and pierced them with tiny, sunken eyes that were almost completely obscured by thick eyebrows, his entire face almost obscured by his thick, sharp five o'clock shadow. 

A ten dollar fairground sucker sat in his mouth, the sort made out of rainbow candy - threatening to disrupt his speech. It, instead, only thickened his impressively broad accent, save for the odd dribble of thick, Day-Glo pink-dyed spittle that trickled from the oversized confection. 

"Th'Big Man's bin expectin' you." He said, authoritatively. (Save the odd slurp of gusto.)

Marius froze as he stared at the little man - and, moreover, the hundreds of other little men that stood in their tiny motor cars ahead of him. He was not quite so acclimated to the oddness of the town - indeed, it was as if his entire outlook on life was changing at the sight of the tiny crooks in trilbies and trenchcoats. 

The silence that ruled was beyond awkward - far too awkward for a boy of his polite upbringing.

It was, after all, a Fundhauser family rule to always, without fail, introduce yourself - even if threatened with a firearm. In retrospect, it was a really dumb motto, but one that he stood by. He twisted his lip, stepped forward and offered his hand. "Greetings, my uh- my name is Marius von Fundhaus-" 

**_RATATATATATATATATATATATATATA_ **

The group yelled in terror as the Tommy Guns lit up like sparklers, sending Marius onto the floor with a howl as a lurid, bright red spattered in all directions, contrasting fiercely against the dark, mossy surface of The Crawlspace's cobblestone paving in thick, clotted splashes of claret and crimson. 

The leader of the troupe held up his hand, prompting the firing to cease, wisps of smoke rising from those brutal, uncaring steel barrels. 

Mabel squealed in horror and hid behind Soos and her brother, who both vainly attempted to shield her from what was happening. Pacifica latched onto Dipper around the waist tightly, her cheeks pale, her eyes scrunched shut.

"Dude!!" Wendy shouted, shoving them out of the way and running to the young, motionless magnate. "Why would you do that?!" 

"That's what happens when ya creep up on th'Mob, firehead. They get jumpy."

"So you _murder_ them?!" She yelled back, holding up Marius's head. 

"Calm down, ya dumb broad. They're-" 

"Paintballs?" Wendy interrupted in disbelief, plucking an unexploded casing from Fundhauser's hair. 

"Truly…" Marius groaned, "A hero's death."

The Corduroy teenager unceremoniously dropped his head and stood back up, turning to the tiny men and snarling. "Alright, smart. Cute bit. Now, where's my _brother_?" 

"Ya mean the buff little hume with the big hair? Relax, freckles. He's still alive. The Big Man just needed some bait ta get these three shmucks down here. They've been quite th'inconven- inco- inconvan- trouble."

"I've not done anything!" Marius protested. 

The leading Clurichaun glared at Marius with limited interest and unlimited irritation. "I don't even know who the hell you _are_ , kid. Unless ya wanna play another game'a Tommy Gun dodgeball I'd advise ya ta keep yer trap shut."

Dipper snickered until he was elbowed in the ribs. 

“C’mon Dip, say something!”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“I dunno, ask ‘em who they work for!”

“Pacifica, seriously, these guys mean business-”

“And we don’t?!”

Dipper huffed, took a deep breath, and stepped forward. Ever eager to impress, he attempted to square up - puffed out his pigeon chest, rocked his shoulders back, the whole shebang. “Well, who is this damned big man anyway?” 

“That’s why ya gotta come with us, ya nitwit.” The man in charge snorted in response. “If ya think ya wanna be a wiseguy, try bein’ a wiser guy, capiche?”

The timid, anxious teen fell back, tapping his fingers together awkwardly. “Uh, right… so, uh, do you lead on, or…”

“Na, we got other plans, kid.” The Clurichaun replied. 

“Huh?”

The mobster wordlessly clicked his fingers - and, from behind, every one of human intruders received a heavy cosh across the back of the neck, sending them to the floor. Dipper yelped as everything went black. 

“Say g’night, Gracy.” The mobster grinned, flicking away his lollipop stick. “Man, I love this job. Tie ‘em up, boys.”


	25. Shack's Shipyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

The Mystery Shack’s parking lot had become a veritable paradise for salty sea dogs. Timbers, ropes, chains and canvas festooned the yard as the Stan O’War was refitted to the utmost standards - or, at least, the standards of Ford.

He wiped his brow as he tried to study a pile of textbooks and manuals under the beating, Oregon sun - trying to work out how one was meant to add Wi-Fi connection to a sailing vessel. It didn’t help that he still wasn’t entirely sure what Wi-Fi was. He’d read at least seven of these damned ‘Expert Guides’. He wasn’t going to move onto ‘Guides for Dummies’. That was just insulting. 

He looked at the router in his hands confusedly, as if he was expecting the thing to explain digital networking to him itself - and became so absorbed in the thought process that he barely acknowledged when Stan approached him. 

“Sixer, we gotta move.” Stan said, clutching his walkie talkie. "Like, now."

“Huh?”

“The kids just got coshed by a group’a tiny mobsters.”

Ford turned to him, an eyebrow raised. “But Wendy and Soos were with them - What did _they_ do?!"

“They got coshed by a group’a tiny mobsters.”

“Damn.” 

"Yeah." Stan grunted, rubbing the back of his head. "It's uh… a bit of a foul-up, Ford. Gotta be honest, probably not our finest moment."

"Well, what's happening now?" 

"They're being brought to the boss."

"And he is?" 

"How the hell would I know? I've been tunin' in and out."

"What?! _Stanley!"_

" _What_ _?!_ The boxing's on another frequency, and most of it was Dipper and Pacifica talkin' ta each other. What sorta weirdo cares about that? I got better things to do."

"You were meant to listen to the entire thing, Stanley! What else happened?!” 

"Ey, ey, I listened to most of it! Some rich kid is down there too. Fundhound or some crap." 

"Fundhausers? Great. That's all they need. Like one rich, crooked family wasn't enough for this town. Come on, we'd better get down there." Ford grunted as he stood, cracking his back. 

“Right, right. I’ll load up.” 

Ford rubbed his head and sighed, somewhat disappointed that his young proteges had managed to get captured so easily. He had a certain faith they’d be safe - naturally. Sometimes this stuff felt like a damned cartoon - but it seemed a rather unceremonious way to get captured. 

Of course, he’d also never really heard of a group of Clurichauns. Let alone a mob of gun-touting Clurichauns. It was all fairly new territory, and something that he felt, now, he _had_ to investigate. Clurichauns were usually fairly harmless, save for eating and drinking far too much. The idea of them gearing up, then overpowering some of the toughest, most enterprising kids he knew…

That felt a bit off.

The old man scanned the perimeter of those jagged Gravity Falls treelines - a force of habit implanted by becoming a veteran of the strange and unknown; challenged only, perhaps, by his great nephew, his great niece, and - of all people in the world - a Northwest. 

He looked upon his attempts to fit out the Stan O’War with an extra cabin with pride and polished one of the new mahogany veneers he had paid positively through the nose for. And he had the Pines nose. Paying through a Pines nose was no mean feat. 

After all, it _was_ for a Northwest. 

Stanford rubbed his chin and chuckled to himself. It was a strange course of events, seeing himself genuinely interested in helping to raise a member of the town’s criminally rich (and just plain criminal) family - even if it was one that had started to reform. He himself had been more than a little dismissive at first. But he’d seen a spark in Pacifica. And, with nobody there to cultivate it, it just made sense in his mind to take the reins. Dipper and Mabel had a good set of parents (according to Stan, anyway) while, in his mind, Pacifica had… Well.

Nothing. 

He was used to being a lone wolf. He knew how _brilliant_ a lone person could be. It was his _duty_ as the best _possible_ guardian in _town_ to try and help Pacifica become the best possible person she could. He and Stan would make her the best damned anomaly hunter this side of Northern Europe. (At least, until they begin their expedition to find the mysterious _Ost-Älg_.)

To his typically justice-centric, sharp, yet foresight free mind, he and Stanley were the best bet for Pacifica's future. They were certain of the matter. They get to nurture her into a true successor without interfering in Dipper's life back in Piedmont - and ensuring the two stay in contact. 

As sure as he was that love was a wasted concept in the minds of the brilliant and that kids shouldn't occupy themselves with romance, he could make an exception for Pacifica and Dipper. It seemed as close to perfect as the two could get. Save perhaps for Mabel and Kevin. 

Even if he did disapprove of Mabel's more… fawning, eccentric nature, he had started to recognise how much happiness the kids were bringing to each other. So much so that he was willing to do anything to keep it together. Sure, he didn't know if the two couples would last forever. Or even beyond the end of Summer. But if he could _help_ , he'd be doing a sterling job of Grunkling. To paraphrase what Soos had once remarked, **_he shipped them._ ** He didn't have a clue what that meant, but it sounded pleasant enough. He liked ships. 

The scholar wiped his hands clean of _Purple Opulence Paint for Perfectly Pretentious People_ and adjusted his jacket as Stanley re-emerged from the shack with another can of Pitt and a bag of toffee peanuts. 

There was a pause. 

Ford twisted his lip as he glared at Stanley. “Well?”

“Huh?”

Ford, wordlessly, lifted the walkie-talkie and glared harder at his significantly less stressed brother. 

“Oh. Oh, right.”

Stan went back into the shack, leaving his frittered sibling rubbing his temples and murmuring a string of expletives back to himself.


	26. Tense Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Dipper groaned as he blearily opened his eyes, his head pounding. “Man…” 

The Crawlspace’s dank, amphibious interior wrapped around them - a sodden, dripping, dark pit of wreckage - collapsed bridges and structures that had once been the bustling, underground centrepiece of the town’s weirdness. The marketplace where all alternative races and creeds came to deal in dodgy derring-do and trickery. 

And it had all been a lie.

Now, under the wrath of the mob and the Big Man, it was being concreted and asphalted, replaced with the unmistakable appearance of thin, looming tenements and crooked lampposts in a vague, somewhat childish interpretation of the 1920s Prohibition period. And Dipper didn’t even really know anything about the 1920s Prohibition period. He just sorta… knew that was what they were going for. 

It was dark - faintly lit. The entire pit stank of stale damp and musk, with a disconcerting smell of smoke and burning wood. The sound of running water, creaking and groaning enveloped their senses. A strange, echoing rattle that sounded like a cross between a snake and a spray can seemed to sound off in irregular intervals, refrained by scurrying rats and tiny, designer leather boots that depicted the unmistakable pitter-patter of Clurichauns in their hundreds. 

A single lightbulb hung on a long cable between them, swinging back and forth, as if they were in an interrogation chamber.

Dipper looked around him. His entire party was there - Pacifica, Wendy, Mabel and Soos - all tied to red, leather upholstered chairs, looking somewhere uncertainly between the route of either vomiting or falling asleep, their heads spinning and throbbing. 

“You guys alright?” Dipper asked. 

Mabel, who was tied up alongside him, nodded. “I think they might have given me brain damage.”

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Don’t be over-dramatic, Mabel.”

“We just got ambushed and knocked out by a load of really tiny men, Dipper. When’s a better time to be dramatic?”

“Gotta give ‘er that, man,” Wendy grunted, trying to break free of the ropes that were holding her to the chair. “This is a bit different.”

Soos nodded with an air of sincerity. “Yeah dawg, It’s a pretty dramatic sitch.” 

Pacifica sighed. “I’m not comfortable with how casually you guys are taking being freaking tied up in a giant underground cave.”

“I mean, we kinda aren’t,” Wendy replied. “We just said it was pretty dramatic.”

“And you just talk about it _this_ casually?”

Soos attempted to shrug. With limited success. “Dawg, if we’re tied to chairs, what else are we meant to do?”

It was a bit difficult to respond to, to be fair. Pacifica flicked her hair and sighed.

The nerd in the vest - and still strangely unfitting beanie - was furious at himself. He had been beaten before he even had a chance to… well, do anything, and had been knocked out with a single whack to the head. 

He figured people like _Marius_ would have put up more of a fight than he had. Man, he was a bad hero. Like, that jerk had broader shoulders than him and had never done a day's work in his life. No wonder he figured he had better chances with the Northwest than Dipper did. 

Jerk. 

He kinda hoped the Clurichauns would eat him or something. 

He huffed and squirmed, looked down at the floor and puzzled over - well, basically everything. Glanced up to Wendy - glanced to Pacifica. Glanced to Soos, his Sister - and well, speaking of Marius, where the hell _was_ Marius?

“Uh… did anyone see where Fundhauser got to?” He mumbled. 

“I think they took him into another room, bro. Probably gonna skin him or something. Do you think that’s where they get their shoes?”

“Soos. Gross.”  
  
“I’m asking the real questions, dawg.” The larger man replied, still maintaining his regular, laid back air. As if asking about skinning was as simple as asking for the time of the next bus. 

“Guess that’s two gorgeous men we’ve got to rescue.” Mabel sighed. 

“You hated him literally a few minutes ago.”

“That doesn’t stop him being beautiful, Dipper. He's even got a beauty spot. Even his skin knows how beautiful he is!"

"I bet it's fake."

"Grenda says it isn't!" 

Pacifica rolled her eyes and smirked at the two siblings' exchange. At the very least, they had some form of entertainment while waiting for their inevitable meeting with the mysterious leader - the Big Man. The chief Clurichaun. The leviathan of the underground racket. Whoever he was, whatever he had done to the two boys, whatever his end game - they were going to find out by force. 

The mood was far from joyful in the first place; it was now sour, bitter and fearful. The tension (and headaches) were palpable. There seemed to be no exit - no escape. They just had to… wait.

Dipper and Mabel were never the best at patience. The two began squirming almost immediately, their dwindling patience only sinking deeper. It didn’t help that Pacifica was barely a patient person at the best of times, either. While Wendy and Soos were fairly content to sit back and wait for, well, anything to happen, the younger three were devolving into chaotic struggles.

“This is freakin’ dumb!” Pacifica said. “We can’t seriously let these guys just- just tie us up!”

“Pacifica, they already have.” Mabel replied. “We couldn’t _be_ any more tied up right now.”

“I mean, my hands are kinda loose.” Dipper piped in. 

“Well don’t say that, you dork!” the Northwest heir snapped. “Use it!”

“I’m trying, Paz! Do I look like Houdini?”

“I don’t even know what Houdini looked like!”

“... Huh. Me neither.”

“They’ve done a pretty good job of rebuilding this place, I guess.” Pacifica huffed. “The uh… the actual roads are a pretty nice touch.”

Dipper and Mabel idly nodded in reluctant agreement. And they fell quiet again.

The lightbulb continued swinging back and forth, its scant light illuminating them in soft, yellow light that travelled left and right, its thin, precarious cable creaking as it batted back and forth. 

The group stayed quiet as they dealt with their situation. Waiting for something - anything, really - to happen. But it never seemed to. 

Seconds passed by. 

Minutes. 

All punctuated by nothing more than that swinging, yellow glow of the sole lightbulb in the chamber. 

“Anyone got any ideas?” Wendy said.

Dipper huffed. “It’d be a lot easier to think if that guy stopped _hitting the lightbulb!_ ”

All eyes raised up to the little man who was responsible for the light’s disorientating motions. 

“You wanna cut that out, man?!”

“This is my job, wise guy!” The Clurichaun’s shrill voice snapped in response, giving the lightbulb another slap. “You got a better one, gimme a call!”

“If you untie me I’ll give you twenty bucks!”

“Nice try, hume. That’s barely enough to buy a brownie platter.”

“You guys have a sugar problem.” Pacifica snapped. “Like, worse than Mabel’s.”

“Hey!”

“You have emergency candy in every pocket, bag and purse that you own.” 

“You never know when you need it!” Mabel replied. “It’s a good habit! Like… comforting. A sorta… distraction, yeah!”

They heard the sound of tiny fingers clicking. 

“And, you see, that right there is _exactly_ how it all works.”

A looming silhouette appeared in the doorway. Stout, short, wicked - sinister, but unassuming.

Dipper squinted. Blinked. And recoiled. 

“YOU?!”


	27. The Big Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

“Of course Mabel would be th’only one bright enough to wrap it all up in a pretty bow.” The silhouette chuckled as he walked in, flanked by a small selection of the toughest ‘chauns in the business.

He towered over them. To the Clurichauns, there was no doubt that The Big Man was an intimidating, commanding presence. Doted upon. 

He wordlessly walked behind his captives, hidden in the inky black shroud of The Crawlspace’s natural darkness, his fine leather shoes clacking against the floor in similar tones to the little mobsters that surrounded him, a little, shining whistle swaying on his chubby neck.

“Of course, ah shouldn’t be at all surprised, should ah, sweetie?”

Pacifica wrinkled her nose. “ _Sweetie_? Did you just call Mabel sweetie?”

“Ah surely did, Northwest.” The big man giggled as he sat up in his executive chair and clicked on his little desk lamp, illuminating a chubby, freckled face with a devious smile and unpleasantly upturned button nose. “After all, Mabel an’ I have the most adorable lil’ history.”

Gideon Gleeful, tiny township terror extraordinaire, cackled to himself, clapping his little hands together gleefully. “Ya see?! It’s funny because Mabel ain’t _never_ called me!”

"Why would I ever call you?! I have standards, Gleeful!" 

"See, that's what I figured, sugarplum. I knew Dipper had never told you what I did."

Mabel’s dismissive tone softened. “Wait. What do you mean, what you did…?" 

"Ah did a lil thing for y'all durin' Weirdmageddon, Mabel, honey. And Dipper here, he fell back on his promise. And that, that just grinds my gears." His eyes narrowed. "Never did like me, did you Dipper?"

Gideon snorted as he giggled to himself. He seemed every bit his egocentric, megalomaniacal old self. Well dressed, hair perfectly kept, a Footsie Pop in his mouth. 

He tented his fingers and sneered at the group with that unflinching, uncaring grimace that only Gideon knew. It was as strangely disconcerting as the day they had first seen his bad side. If not more so. 

After all, he had an _army_ now. 

Dipper was, ultimately, unrepentant. “Dude, we’d just gone through a literal apocalypse event. It slipped my mind, alright?”

“I understand, Dipper. But y’see, it slipped mah mind about becomin’ a better person, too.”

Soos’s natural ability for conversation did not hold back against the freckled fiend. “Look, dawg, I ‘unno what agreement you had with my bro, but you can’t just like - stop being a better person after what, a few months? What’s uh- what’s goin’ on there?”

Gideon kept his fingers tented and listened, solemnly, nodding as the man spoke. “Well, I’m glad you asked, Soos.”

“Oh boy, he’s going to monologue.” Pacifica mumbled. 

“Ah didn’t ask for your opinion, Northwest!” The Big Man snapped, pointing accusingly. “Ya’ll might think you’re better than me, but ah know you’re both frauds! Both of you! And your love! All lies!!” 

The two kids glanced at each other in confusion. 

“Ah can’t stand th’fact you two get so much approval from this damned town when Mabel an’ I were torn apart all on your whim, Pines! It ain’t fair! I did everythin’ right!” 

Mabel cringed. “You’re gonna have like, twelve anime body pillows when you’re older.”

“...Darlin’, that ain’t very nice.” 

“I don’t want to be nice to you, you creepy jerk! I want my boyfriend back!”

“He ain’t your boyfriend, Mabel. He’s just another of your flings. Th'flavour of th'week. Don’tcha see? _I’m_ your future. Why, down here, mah entire future is paved with gold.”

"Your future is probably on a freaking police record, Gleeful!" Wendy shouted. "For being a kid, you're a really messed up one!" 

"Shaddap, Corduroy. Remember your brother is in the care of mah lil' gang - y'all better be nice to me."

Mabel was beginning to freak out. Perhaps rightfully so. Gideon was not the sort of weirdness she was particularly happy to involve herself in again. “So all of this stuff was about me?!”

Gideon smiled and shook his head, ruefully. “No, Mabel. It ain’t. Just a happy lil’ coincidence. Y’see, I tried to go straight. Ah really did.” 

The Big Man looked down with what seemed to be genuine remorse. His little legs swung back and forth underneath the desk, his fingers fiddling gently with the paperwork of invoices, receipts and piles of cash that his little business had been bringing in. 

He huffed and looked back up at his captives. “All my life, I’ve never been taken seriously. I’ve always jus’ been lil’ old me. Lil' Gideon. Stupid songs. Stupid telepath acts. Treated like a kid. Too young for th'girl of mah dreams. How d’ya think that feels, Dipper? Never been taken seriously? D’ya know how that feels?”

Dipper paused. “I mean, I-”

“Ah know you do, Dipper. Me an’ you, we ain’t so different-” 

“If Dipper was anything like _you_ , Gideon, he’d not be with _me!_ ” Pacifica snapped. “He’s better looking, smarter, funnier-”

"-taller." Dipper piped in. 

Pacifica raised an eyebrow. "Barely." 

"Still counts."

"...Sure, hon." 

Gideon held up his hand and sneered. “Now, now, Pacifica. We all know you ain’t got the best taste. Y’all crushed on Robbie for what, four months?” 

“That was just a crush! This is serious!”

“Well now, the funny thing is, that’s exactly what ah thought.” Gideon pretended to tap his lip thoughtfully. "But people decided ah was wrong. That ah was creepy."

"You could have just…let Mabel go." Wendy said. 

" _Ah’d have killed her first, Corduroy!!_ \- Oh shoot. Now, now, I didn't mean that, sugarlumps, I-" 

Mabel cringed. " _Sugarlumps?!_ "

“Get to the point!” Dipper shouted. "If you're gonna monologue, at least stay focused, man!"

Gideon’s face darkened and went a strange shade of purple, his hands beginning to shake as he dealt with the sudden burst of - in The Big Man’s eyes - pure impudence from his captives. He was beyond furious. "You don't get to tell me what to do, Pines, you-you-you fu-" 

A Clurichaun interrupted them with a candy bar on a silver platter. “Ey, ey, calm down, boss. Have a Kicker’s. You ain’t yourself if you don’t get your 3PM Kicker’s.”

“Thank y’all, Jeremy.” Gideon wiped his brow and took a deep breath as he tried to regain his temper, taking a big bite of the candy bar and continuing to speak with his mouth full. “Y'see, down here, I ain’t lil' old me. I’m The Big Man. I’m in charge. An’ I make a damned good profit. Why, ain’t that as sweet as sugared buttermilk? I didn’t _need_ my bolo tie down here; or a flashlight. No, down here, I jus’need my wits. No dumb powers, just a good plan.”

“What is the freaking plan anyway?” Wendy barked. 

“I told you, it’s sugar!” Mabel beamed. 

Dipper took a big, deep sigh and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Mabel’s right.”

“See? Sharp as a pin.” Gideon giggled and stood up, gushing over Mabel Pines as if he had briefly forgotten he was meant to be a killer mob boss. “Enchanting.”

“Sugar. As in candy.” Pacifica responded, stony-faced, her voice completely lacking emotion. It was fair to say she was significantly unimpressed with the grand conclusion of the mob’s business. “Seriously?”

“Now, now, Northwest. Ya’ll can mock, but it sure as hell works. Y’see-”

“Sugar helps them forget. Distracts them from what they’ve been through during Weirdmaageddon.” Dipper sighed. 

“Well I’ll be.” Gideon beamed. “Been discussing my plan?”

“Something Grunkle Stan said.” 

“An’ it was all inspired by your beautiful sister. Y’see, after everythin’, she was always so happy, never ornery - she was a light to the world. Not just to mine. An’ I pondered over it as I rifled through your trash, looked through my personal shri-...collection, and realised. Gummy Koalas. Jelly Beans. Chocolate. Nougat…”

“Dude, that’s totally my language!” Soos grinned.

“An’ that proves my point, Jesus Ramirez.” 

“Who?- Oh, oh wait. Ha! That’s me.”

“You and Mabel, you both came outta Weirdmageddon almost none-the-wiser, and you both have one thing in common.”

“Good looks?” 

“Correc-uh- no.”

“Incredible Charisma?” 

“No. I already explained - Candy. The answer is candy. Snacks!”

“That was my next guess, bro.”

"So all ah did was bring these poor, unfortunate creatures a little relief. A little sweetness in their lives. It started with a cookie or two, a kind lil' gesture." Gideon gave a thin veil in the form of an innocent smile and an irritatingly twee giggle. One that felt crooked and knowing. Seething. A bubbling pot of anger and manipulation. "How was _ah to know_ they'd keep comin' back for more?" 

“You didn’t-”

Gideon rose up his silencing hand again. "Why, soon enough, they were comin' back an' begging for chocolate, candy corn, toffee peanuts and Footsie pops. Desperate for a kick. So I went wholesale. Ah got 'em to pay in the currencies our human world don't accept. Emeralds, Rubies, Sapphires… Gold."

It was, in its way, rather monstrous. A child's version of mob interests. A twee world of vicious price hikes that made the fantasy creatures beyond completely dependent upon Gideon's hustle. 

The chunky pre-teen snorted and tapped his fingers together gleefully. "An' then it _really_ took off. 

Ah met the Clurichauns, and they immediately knew ah was their leader. The biggest 'chaun they'd ever met, with the nicest hair an' nicest shoes."

"Dude, I totally told you guys Gideon looked like a leprechaun."

Dipper was forced to concede. "I swear, Soos, you have some kind of sixth sense with this stuff." 

"Comes naturally, bro."

"I showed them the desserts from all of Mabel an'I's little date spots. The whole monster world of the forest _knew_ they needed 'em after ah let' em try a piece. They paid _triple_ for that. So ah got mah little group to strike up deals with the owners, told 'em if they didn't pay insurance and provide a few hundred loads of th' sweet stuff a month, they'd burn to th'ground. Why, they were just so fulla painful memories, I didn't even feel _guilty_."

Dipper stared, opened jawed, for a moment - perturbed by _exactly everything_ that Gideon had just said. No exceptions. He shook his head back into reality and barked. “So you boss the Clurichauns around, get them to bully restaurants, steal desserts and sell them to- to freaking gnomes?! Gideon, even for you, that’s a crackpot plan!”

“Not just gnomes. Manotaurs, nymphs, ducks, Steve - It sure as hell works, Dipper.” Gideon beamed. Ah must have twenty tons of uncut gemstone, raw gold ore and platinum in mah stores.”

“And what are you gonna do with that?”

“Why, cash it in, of course. And buy the town.”

“Why would you want to _buy_ Gravity Falls?! ”

“Gotta buy something, Dipper. Might as well be the homes of all the people that shunned me.” 

“You’re insane!”

“Oh, no, no, Dipper. If anything, ah’d say ah’m the sanest in this danged place. Y’see, ah spot an opportunity to better myself, an’ ah take it.”

“This isn’t bettering yourself, Gideon!” Mabel shouted. “This is worse! A hundred, thousand times worse than you were before!”

"Hey, last time he tried to kill me!" Dipper barked back. 

"And now he's trying to kill KEVIN!"

Dipper chuckled and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Great, thanks."

"I'm just jesting. Promise."

“Aw heck, sweetums. Ah’m sorry y’all disapprove of mah practises, but this is jus’ who ah am. Goin’ straight earned me nothin’ but heartache, Mabel. Not a single good thing came fr’m me tryna be a better man.” 

The stubby little mob boss stood up and walked around them, his hands behind his back - barely able to touch each other thanks to a combination of his short limbs and barrel-shaped torso. 

“Bein’ good got me nowhere. Ah was poorer, ah was less respected, ah was less loved and ah… most of all? Ah was less happy.” 

There was a pause. As if he was contemplating his place in the world. As if, deep down, there was a twinge of regret in the psychopathic, two-foot-haired pre-teen and his actions. Dipper couldn’t help but wonder how much he could chalk it up to his own complacency with it all - or his own naivety. 

Was it really that realistic to expect bad people to just… turn good?

He glanced at Pacifica. 

Maybe she was more of an exceptional person than even he thought. 

“Oh but here now, where ah mah manners? I’ve got your friends in th’next room. We’ll bring y’all through, don’tcha worry. It’s a show you ain’t gonna wanna miss.” 

The Big Man clicked his fingers and, as if by magic, a fleet of Clurichauns arrived from the shadows, lifting the chairs and carrying the captives towards a ramshackle, wood-panel door that hung precariously in a rough hewn doorway. 

“Come on, Pines. Y’all don’t wanna miss the fireworks.” he grinned, darkly, as he led them through, a faint chuckle in his voice that veiled unmistakable excitement.


	28. Molten Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Behind the door - and, presumably, inside one of the chambers they had never seen in The Crawlspace - there was a sudden rush of searing heat. The room was addled in smoke, difficult to breathe within. Drenched in a feeling of heavy, industrial fury that clanked, roared and spat sparks in all directions. 

Enormous, cast iron pipes, bulging, crooked and crudely riveted, wrapped around every inch and crevice, seemingly wedged straight into the thick Oregon clay and limestone with the subtlety of a steam hammer. 

In the centre, there were three huge, rocking cauldrons of metal, hot wood-burning furnaces roaring underneath and spitting cinders as they were fed log after log, along with what was clearly the wooden remains and fractured skeletal structure of the old Crawlspace market. 

The noise was deafening, the idle shouts and chatter of the diminutive workers only contributing to the sheer industrial cacophony that enveloped the captives Pines (and honorary Pines, naturally.)

“This,” Gideon said, having to raise his voice as much as he could, “Is one of th’most important parts of mah entire operation!”

“Your sugar operation needs an ironworks?”

“‘Tain’t an ironworks, Northwest. Y’see, they pay me in raw gold, gems, rare ores, but hot damn if ah don’t need ‘em refined before I sell ‘em for cash. Turns out whoever lived here before me had much the same problem when dealin’ with fantasy creatures. This here’s mah furnace.”

It briefly occurred to Dipper how bizarre it was to hear a voice so twee and childish as Gideon’s saying a word so… well, _metal_ as ‘furnace’. 

“And up there are two particularly valuable li’l gemstones ah’m plannin’ ta smelt!”

There, above the bubbling cupola of thick, yellow metal, were Kevin and Marius - gagged, tied in thick rope and hanging from an industrial-size chain and hook that teetered precariously on a crude gantry crane. 

Mabel squealed as she clapped her hands over her mouth. Not least from the fact she was almost choking on the thick clodding smog that seemed to permeate the room’s entire atmosphere.

Clurichauns wandered around them wearing riveted goggles and leather gloves, pouring more raw gold nugget into the giant vat below the trapped teenagers, who only struggled and shouted for help behind their gags, Kevin staring at Mabel pleadingly. 

Mabel stared back up to him, her eyes wide. And resisted the urge to make a remark about him being hot enough already, or already being worth his weight in gold, etc etc etc - she figured that would probably only serve to make Gideon even more unhinged. 

But, like, she was thinking it. And making notes in her mind to use _every single one_ of those jokes when they had saved them. Because, obviously, they were going to. Right? Sure, they were tied to chairs, held at tommy-gun point by thousands of little monsters- uh, mobsters - but they were the Pines family. 

She looked at the others hopefully and tried to keep a brave face. It uh… wasn’t as easy as she thought. As her eyes scanned around the crooked, hollow Curzon enclave (man, what if this is where he used to, like, go to the bathroom or something?), surrounded as she was by gigantic iron pipes, scaffolds and cauldrons, she couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic. 

The sounds of bubbling, molten gold were discomforting. Boilking, burping and sputtering with splashes and drops of the thick, banana pudding-like substance spitting towards their shoes at random intervals with soft, muted fizzling.

“Quite a set-up, huh? They built it themselves, jus’ for this sorta purpose.” Gideon beamed, proudly. “We could smelt anythin’ down here. Ah’ve been thinkin’ about forgin’ coins an’ the like… after melting down these two, of course.”

“Is this seriously just to get back at me?!” Mabel shouted at the top of her voice. “Kevin hasn’t done anything wrong!!”  
  
“Now, now, Mabel. The first rule of runnin’ an operation like this is that collateral damage? That’s th’best kind. Ah’d really prefer not to hurt a single hair on your pretty lil’ head, but muscle boy up there? He don’t mean a thing to me.” 

“Well, what about Fundhauser?” Pacifica asked, trying to gesture towards the teenage multimillionaire with the beauty spot. 

“Oh, that’s who this guy is? Bein’ honest, ah told them ta tie up the one with the strongest perfume an’ th’most make up. Y’all can probably see the misunderstandin’. It was meant to be you up there.”

Pacifica blinked. “... Huh.”

“Yeup.” Gideon said, hands on his hips as he looked up at his two soon-to-be-victims.There was a moment of silence, save for the refrain of bubbling metal, hissing pipes and clanking furnaces, as Gideon and the crew looked back up somewhat helplessly at the two teenagers on the gantry crane.

"It's funny really; Fundhausers, Kevin, Mabel, Soos, Pacifica, Wendy - ya'll had some fight in you. Dipper though? Why, it's pretty interestin' that the hero is some weak nerd with noodle arms who goes down with a single bash to th'head. Hell, ah'm pretty sure the privileged valley girl had more muscle in her arms than her boyfriend!" 

"Dipper doesn't need muscle!" Pacifica snorted. "He just needs to be smarter than the likes of you!" 

Gideon giggled menacingly. "But y'know, if ah know how it goes in th'mind of a lil' man, ah know that eats him up on th'inside. Ah bet he'd give anythin' to be th'strong, handsome sort like Marius or Kevin up there. Ah bet he'd give anythin' to impress you an' Wendy with more'n just his mind. Because deep down, he hates bein' lil-"

"Dipper!" Pacifica beamed excitedly. 

"Huh?" 

Gideon snapped out of his monologue to see Dipper's chair completely empty, the poorly tied ropes hanging idly from its frame. 

Dipper's weak nerd arms had proven particularly useful. With so little flesh on his skinny arms - and Clurichauns having very little knowledge of tying knots - Gideon's love of monologuing had given him ample time to slip his noodly limbs free, and his scrawny frame had managed to slip out of view easily enough. 

Dipper slipped behind Gideon and tapped his shoulder. “I might have no muscle, Gideon, but you know what I do have?”

“An attitude problem?”

“No, I have a really big head.” Dipper grinned. 

**_THOCK!_ **

The group stared as Dipper Pines grabbed Gideon by his lapels, leaned back and then used about the biggest, toughest part of his body with style - and a fair level of savagery. He gave Gideon a _savage_ headbutt - something that, admittedly, would have lost its impact with a woolly lumberjack hat or peaked trucker cap. 

Pacifica found herself breaking into a really, really wide smile. 

Gideon stumbled backwards and fell against Dipper’s chair as a trickle of blood fell from his nose. “Y-you shouldn’t had oughta done that, Dipper Pines! Ah- Ah’m not a light touch anymore! Drop ‘em, boys! Smelt them into soup!!”

There was only silence. 

“Boys?! Boys! Drop those two into the-”

“Not today, pal.” Came a familiar, husky voice up above. There, up on the scaffold, Stan and Ford stood triumphantly, surrounded by unconscious miniature mobsters. 

Gideon fell silent, his eyes widening. That wasn’t _fair_. He was far more comfortable when his enemies were - y’know - closer to his own size. As it stood, it felt more like the two old men were tipping the balance.

His confidence slipped away almost instantly. 

“Yer operator’s a bit busy, chief.” Stan grinned.

“Quite a puzzle. A mob boss with no mob.” Ford smiled, dusting off his hands. “Now, let’s get you two down from-”

“Oh, I’ve got way more mob, Stanford! And they won’t take kindly to you takin’ away their sugar high!!” Gideon snarled, pulling up his little silver whistle. “Y’all know that Clurichauns can hear higher frequencies?! Ah sure did!”

He blew the whistle with no small level of urgency - the result was instantaneous, as a gaggle of furious Clurichauns leapt upon the two older men and started biting, kicking and punching the old men into placation, ripping them away from the gantry crane. 

Ford and Stan both stumbled backwards in surprise and grabbed hold of one of those large, crude steel pipes - which were so poorly riveted that they ripped free, bursting off of their poorly built braces and releasing billowing smoke into the air, only increasing the confusion. 

The winch on the gantry crane, no longer held by anyone, slowly began to turn. To their terror, Marius and Kevin began lowering towards the bubbling pot, surely facing nothing more than a fate of a fiery, melty - but very valuable - death. 

Dipper ran up the crude steps to the top of the scaffold, no longer hesitating - his Grunkles needed help, and it was _Dipper_ who would be giving it. He may not be strong, powerful Dipper Pines with a sharp jaw and broad shoulders - and fabulous hair - but he was sure as hell the Dipper Pines who protected his loved ones. 

He ran as fast as he could over the teetering catwalk that ran alongside the bubbling, spitting vat and the pulsating mass of molten metal within.

“Dipper, forget about us, we can handle this! Get those two down, right now!” Ford bellowed. “Quickly!”

“H-how?!”

Ford howled as the Clurichauns threw their arms around his neck and pulled, and, as he struggled, he kicked the length of giant steel pipe, forcing it to roll somewhat closer to the fiery mess of molten gold… 

Dipper watched it intently and blinked. “Grunkle Ford. Gold has a pretty low melting temperature, right?”

“Y-Ngahh! GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF THERE, YOU LITTLE- Yes, yes it does!”

“Great, thanks.”

“What are you going to-” 

Dipper, wordlessly, his brows furrowed with determination, rolled that enormous steel pipe into the cupola. It slowly edged in and bobbed on the surface of the viscous, steaming yellow matter, stabilising like an enormous log in a river. He looked up at the two slowly wheeling towards it and nodded.

“Dipper, you can’t be serious!” Stan yelled, poking a Clurichaun in the eyes with two fingers… “Get away from there, kid!”

“I can do this.” Dipper replied, stony faced and arms straight out. And - to their horror - the teenager prepared to step forward. Pacifica was fairly sure she had never been more terrified in her life, stunned into a silent scream as she watched him from below, through a thin mist of smoke and steam, preparing to step out into pure, molten terror. 

Everyone stared.

Even Gideon fell silent.

While Ford and Stan, renewed, continued fighting their way through an impressive gaggle of gangsters, fists flying back and forth, throwing the little monsters into the air and across the room. Which was pretty good, save for the fact Stan was secretly hoping to get a few into the vat, maybe throw one into the back of the stupid little twerp’s fat head down below.


	29. Hot House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Dipper swallowed hard as he stepped atop of that giant steel raft, desperately trying to maintain his balance as the pipe slowly grew hotter and hotter underneath him, bobbing with a deceptive sense of calm in the unflinching heat and rage of the furnaces below. 

He looked down and grimaced, sweat beginning to drip in thin streams down his brow as he briefly reflected on the fact he was only, what, half a metre above a molten lake of extremely uncomfortable death? It probably wasn’t so startling in retrospect, he must have risked his life plenty of times since discovering Gravity Falls (and when he ate those oysters, for that matter), but this was different. 

Metal wasn’t some cartoon villain. It wasn’t even cartoon metal. It was making the soles of his shoes begin to stick to the pipe, and he could feel the heat constantly rising underneath him. He was sweating in parts he was pretty sure he had never sweated before.

Down below, The Big Man was rather enjoying the show, despite how impressed he was with Dipper’s gumption. “Dang, ah knew you were stupid, Dipper Pines, but-”

He froze as an unmistakable silhouette stepped behind him. He heard the unmistakable sound of counterfeit brogues behind him. The smell of cheap cologne. The cracking of old bones.

“Wanna untie my kids and staff, Gleeful?”

Gideon gulped. “N-now, now, Stanley, ah’m sure y’all wouldn’t hit a child-”

“You aren’t lil’ Gideon anymore. Remember? You’re the Big Man.” Stanley grinned, hoisting him up by his lapels. “Who’s gonna stop me? Now, untie ‘em, or I’ll beat your hairdo into a short back an’ sides, kid.”

Gideon’s face dropped as Stanley put him down and cracked his knuckles, grinning menacingly - and, wordlessly, he scurried to the chairs. 

“I-i-i-is Dipper okay up there?!” Pacifica stammered as her hands were freed. “W-what do we do?!”

She almost took off, planning to run up those structurally unsound steps as fast as she could to do anything she could to help - only for both Mabel and Wendy to grab her. 

“If we go up there he might fall!!” Mabel said. “We gotta- we gotta just hope he does it!”

Even Wendy, usually the most relaxed of the group, was hyped up to hell. “He’s _crazy_ , dude! I can’t believe even _Dipper_ would have the guts to do that junk!”

“I can.” Stan grinned. “He’s got a pretty big motivator.” 

“Huh?”

“The kid’s out to impress some girls. Guy’ll do any kinda crazy crap for that.”

Dipper was barely even aware of the discourse below. The pipe threatened to roll underneath him as he cautiously stepped towards the centre - where Kevin and Marius were still being lowered, closer and closer to the searing heat below them.

The pipe was beginning to cause his trainers to sizzle against its surface. He could feel every inch of him becoming moist and uncomfortable. It felt like he’d slide off of the damned thing purely from his own perspiration if he wasn’t careful. Truth be told, Dipper wanted to vomit. His face, arms and legs seemed to be going a deep red. He was beginning to stagger. 

As foolhardy as the plan was - the timing was perfect, as the two tied-up teenagers, shouting and struggling under their gags, laid their feet on the pipe with a dull clank, causing it to bob slightly. They stared, wide eyed - shell shocked by what was below them. 

Dipper got to work untying the knot, which, perhaps mercifully, only betrayed the Clurichaun’s lack of experience with doing any kind of work for themselves. Marius squealed as he was freed and almost went to hug the life out of his saviour. 

“Don’t you freakin’ dare, man.” Dipper snapped as the structure groaned and threatened to roll over again. “Get off the pipe.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Marius gulped. 

He, Kevin and Dipper wordlessly strode their way back to the catwalk, their vision increasingly smothered by steam and smoke from the fractured pipes above. Dipper felt his legs beginning to shake.

“I think I’m gonna throw up-” Kevin groaned.

“Throw up when we get off, Corduroy!” Dipper shouted, sounding increasingly breathless. “We really haven’t got time for this!”

“I’ll buy you a house, a sports car! I’ll buy you an entire candy store! O-o-or a library! You’re my lifesaver, Dipper Pines! The most heroic-”

“Marius, shut the hell up.” 

They finally, thankfully, clambered back onto the scaffold. Dipper almost fell onto it in exhaustion and the early stages of heat stroke, his shoes peeling off from the rapidly heating steel with a soft tearing noise - ripping like a bandaid from the pipe as it began to glow a deep, scalding red and sank into the enormous iron vat - belching into an air bubble of the rippling, curling texture of the molten valuables that encroached upon it. 

Ford punched his way through the last of the Clurichaun stragglers and shouted in glee at the sight of his nephew’s successful mission. “Yes! Yes! Well done, Dipper! A _sterling_ job! Pardon the pun-” 

Nobody really recognised the pun. But Dipper was very grateful for the congratulatory slap on the back and the pride of his Grunkle, who stood with the trio that had just been in some of the most unflinching peril they had ever experienced. 

He rambled on upon how proud he was - but Dipper barely heard. Nor did Kevin. Nor did Marius. They stared, wordlessly, into the container, sweat soaked into every inch of them, as smoke and steam fizzled from the concoction that very nearly became their metallic, molten tomb. Dipper released his breath, which he had practically held onto for the entire, foolish trip across the golden slurry, his heart hammering against his pigeon chest like a piston. 

He still felt like he was going to throw up, too. 

He wiped his brow and huffed - only for his girlfriend to come thundering up the stairs and practically tackle him in the tightest hug he had ever had, knocking the air out of him and only making him feel even more sick. 

Mabel followed much the same motions with Kevin, although by the time Pacifica had reached Dipper, she already had him in a vice grip.

The Northwest heir looked Dipper deep in the eyes, her own filled with tears, and beamed. “You maniac, you absolute maniac!”

“Guilty.” Dipper panted with a smile. “Guilty as sin.”

“You’re a freaking hero, Dipper.” She beamed, tapping his soot stained nose. " _Wow_.”

He grinned proudly. “Y-yeah, I guess I am-” 

“I couldn’t be prouder.” Ford smiled. “You did a hell of a job, Mason, and a brilliant thought process too. Science! You knew that the pipe would take longer to melt due to its higher melting point and cellular, naturally cooling structure-”

Dipper pretended that was exactly what was going through his mind with an awkward smile and a nod. “Yes. Definitely. Absolutely.”

“Now, we’d better get moving or-”

_Hisssssssss-_

Steam began to fizzle from the pipes, that started to rattle uncomfortably - their poorly manufactured seams bulging in places as the entire, sinisterly steampunk-esque ensemble grew less and less controlled.

The furnace began to clank menacingly as the heat began to rise unabated. With no Clurichauns still conscious to work the fires, damp them down or pump water to regulate their temperature, the entire room seemed to get hotter and hotter. 

“Sweet Mother Theresa.” Stan mumbled. 

“Holy fuc-” Wendy started, before a rivet pinged free and almost hit her in the forehead.

“Dude. It’s like a dream I’ve had about forbidden nacho cheese.”

The entire cave filled with smoke, steam and noise. The furnace’s temperature gauge cracked. Pressure began to rise. Heat became unbearable. The entire group started to back away fearfully as, before their eyes, seams began to groan and expand, bolts, rivets and screws bulging and bursting away. 

“I think it’s maybe time we got movin’, kids!” Stan shouted. “When I said I wanted to be buried in gold, I didn’t mean when it’s like freakin’ molasses!”

“Up here is the safest place, Stanley!” Ford bellowed. “I need you, Soos, Wendy and the Goblin child need to get up here!”

Stan was about to shout out in agreement - but was interrupted by a dull, hollow groan. A rattle. An ear-piercing scream. As if on cue, another length of poorly riveted pipe fell upon those teetering steps and scaffolds, and sent them collapsing to the floor with a thundering crash and the crunching, screaming tones of splintering metal - separating the platform from its sole route to the cavern floor.

“Man,” Soos exclaimed. “This place is more hazardous than The Shack’s wiring!”

“My shack has perfect wiring, Soos. It’s cheap. That makes it perfect.”

“Mr. Pines, I’m just saying-”

They both went silent as, within their next breath, the metal bracing and framework that held the rocking vat in place began to complain. Ford was, by now, growing increasingly panicked. “It’s going to go, Stanley!! Get out of there!!”

“Where the hell do we go, Ford?!”

“Just get to higher ground! All of you!”

The group on the floor left sharply - Soos, Wendy, Stan and Gideon all scarpering out of the cavern through that precarious wooden door and making their way out through the pitch black tunnels they had entered through. 

“You better keep my brother safe, guys, or I’ll throw you in that vat myself!” Wendy shouted as she ran. 

“We will, I promise!” Dipper shouted back a little too enthusiastically, leaning over the shallow barrier as much as he dared.

Mabel broke free of the smooching session with indignation. “Excuse me, bro, Kevin Corduroy is _my_ business. _I’ll_ keep him safe.”

Kevin just chuckled, sheepishly, as Mabel ran her hands through his hair. “L-look, I could have taken them on, I just wasn’t prepared for like, fifty of them!”

For Marius, who had gone a deathly shade of milk white underneath the soot and burns of the afternoon's activities, there was very little support. He just sat there, gibbering and quaking, squeezing a semi-conscious Clurichaun like a Teddy bear. “C-can someone keep me safe? I- thi- this is all too much.”

The brace finally failed. From that point on, it felt like the world itself was in slow motion. Clurichauns, finally stirring awake, watched with shock and horror from the creaking platform as their self-built forge collapsed before their eyes.

The enormous vat roared like a creature possessed as it twisted free from the furnace, landing on the floor with a dull thump and beginning to sway menacingly. They held their breath, clinging to each other and the catwalk in fear as the entire structure, the gigantic cavern itself, seemed to rattle from the impact, a soft scattering of dust falling to the floor.

For at least a few moments, they wondered if it would manage to stay atop its base, embedded in the dirt - but it was a sentiment as hollow as the cupola itself. The monstrous, bulging structure began to sway, before overbalancing and landing atop of the fires used to melt its contents, flattening the flimsy metal furnaces that the eager - albeit incompetent - Clurichauns had manufactured, with a cacophonous crunch not dissimilar to balsa wood breaking under a hammer. Sparks, cinders and burning wood flew skywards as dust and ash flew around the room in a thick, choking smog. 

Then, it spilled. 

Thousands of gallons of molten gold flowed forth like a river of molasses, pouring rapidly from the enormous vat like a spilled soda, bubbling, hissing and sputtering as it spread across the cavern in an unflinching, uncaring tidal wave of scalding, leaping metal. 

What was once dirt was now quite literally paved with valuable metal, rapidly cooling against the thick layers of clay, granite and asphalt that layered up underneath Gravity Falls, the cupola's boiling payload spreading far and wide, through the doors and across much of the mafia's underground headquarters. 

It spread across cookies, brownies, chocolate, footsie pops, candy bars and more, encapsulating them in a thick metallic shell. Thousands, millions of dollars of payload disappeared in an instant to-

… Well, thousands, millions of dollars of payload. 

Clurichauns scattered in their tiny plastic motor vehicles, clambering frantically up scaffolds and tenements to escape the tidal wave of riches. 

The streets of the Crawlspace were, rapidly, becoming paved with gold. Literally. It was a disaster - a very, very shiny disaster. And, as the dust settled and the cold clay and concrete came into contact, the entire thing began to cool and harden into a thick, smooth slab of 24-carat metal.

Pacifica and Dipper stared at each other as, slowly, casually, the dark, foreboding, damp atmosphere returned from that one of dry, hot horror - and things stilled. Calmed. Exhausted their natural routine of pure, unadulterated chaos once again.


	30. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Up on the surface, things were silent. Tranquil. Bunnies and deer pranced about happily, joined in their merry, simple ways by the butterflies and bees. Birds twittered happily as the warm Oregon sun beat down pleasantly upon the pine forests, trees and beautiful wild flowers that swayed in the hot summer wind. 

Bingles, chief of the bunnies, was happily chewing on some dandelions, content with the beauty and calm of his precious kingdom, overjoyed to see all was well in the world around him. Things were blissful, warm and comforting - the ultimate fairy tale. For Bingles, it was clear that magic truly existed in nature.

He knew nothing but happiness here - nothing but contentment. The forest was his home, his kingdom, his territory, and not a soul could spoil it or take it away. 

Bingles the bunny sighed a happy little cotton-tailed sigh as he nibbled at the tasty, sweet leaves of the flowers and felt the breeze through his whiskers. 

Such a joy for a royal bunny. 

Suddenly, the ground below Bingles the bunny shook.

**_Thump._ **

**_Thump._ **

**_THUMP._ **

**_CRASH!_ **

All scattered in terror as a meaty human fist flew up from the ground, striking Bingles the bunny directly in the stomach and sending him and his precious dandelions skywards, where he was caught by a wild falcon and taken away before the distressed squeals of his queen and three hundred children, the subjects around him horrified by the sight of their lost regal.

Bingles fought brutally - and a single feather floated down to his queen, who took it and snarled.  _ She would avenge him.  _

The ground split open as finally, Stan, Soos, Wendy and Gideon emerged, panting and gasping as giant floods of smoke and steam rose beneath them, as if the centre of hell had just opened up, burning - humidity changing the atmosphere of the forest into one of post apocalyptic unpleasantness and wild abandon.

The fluffy populous scattered into the relative safety of bushes, trees and spindles, watching the violent, savage invaders with wide, terrified eyes. 

Stan wheezed and spat as he clambered out of the hole, streaked in dirt. “Holy sh- uh. Jeez, that was freakin’ wild!”

“Mr. Pines, I can’t believe you fought through, like, twenty Clurichauns just to get out of there!”

“Damned right, Soos. Nobody messes with my freakin’ family.” Stan grinned, peeling a beaten Clurichaun from his back and throwing it over his shoulder, striking Queen Beatrice the Bunny in the face. 

“That was absolutely wild!” Wendy grinned. “And the place down there is completely ruined!”

Gideon, still being dragged behind the group by the rear collar of his suit jacket, was not so enthusiastic. Truth be told, the chief of the operation was now having a quiet spell of fluffy, adorable terror himself. “N-now that’s all over, ah’m sure there’s no uh- no hard feelin’s, right, Pines? Ah mean, ah helped you escape, too-”

“You cried and blew snot all over my sleeve, Gideon.” Stan replied dismissively. 

“Ah’m truly sorry. Let’s just put all this unpleasantness behind us and-”

**_WHAM!_ **

Gideon didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Wendy slammed him up against a tree, frightening the beautiful bluebirds into the sky and causing a particularly fearful doe to faint in front of her tiny, vulnerable children.

“If my brother has one single hair out of place after this, I’ll shave off every single one of yours, Gleeful.”

“H-hey now, ah’ve been very gentl- you-you wouldn’t harm a lil’ old child like me, right?”

“As Stan said, you ain’t a kid. You’re the Big Man, right? Not Lil’ Gideon.”

“Ah- well, ah think ah’m probably gonna pack all of that business in and-” 

“And turn yourself in?”

Gideon began to stammer. “Hey, hey, let’s not be too hasty, y’all. Ah’ve - ah’ve learnt mah lesson.”

“If there’s one thing we know about you, Gideon, it’s that you don’t learn.” Wendy hissed. “Give me one reason I should let you go?”

"Well, things sure have been' difficult since ah lost the likes of Ghost Eyes an' th'old crew to a Tourin' line dancing troupe-" 

"Quit the sob stories."

“Look, ah’ll - ah’ll - ah’ll do what ah can to make it right, let’s not go into anythin’ physical here, ah’ll dissolve th’gang, ah’ll-”

“If you do that, dude, you’re gonna have a lot of fantasy creatures goin’ cold turkey.” Soos was quick to point out. “That’s gonna be dangerous, bro.” 

“Well, that’s all part of the problem of supply an’ demand, Soos. Ah mean what, y’all gonna make me bake cookies every day?”

Stan, Wendy and Soos glanced at each other and smirked.


	31. Priceless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

Up on the scaffold, the Clurichauns were now on their knees, screaming in terror at the loss of their precious candy, snacks and pastries. It was like a group of very hairy children who had - well, just lost a substantial amount of their candy.

It was mostly a minor irritation for the humans watching over the considerable disarray. 

“I gotta confess, I uh… didn’t think that would happen.” Dipper mumbled.

“That was the most beautiful tidal wave I’ve ever seen.” his sister chirped. “Look how shiny everything is!”

“Look how ruined Gideon’s entire racket is.” Pacifica chuckled. “Good luck getting cookies out of _that_.”

“Man, how tragic.” Mabel sighed. “Those brownies are legendary.”

“They were.” Pacifica nodded, sincerely, patting Mabel’s shoulder. “They were.” 

Dipper wiped some more sweat and soot off of his forehead, still somewhat shaken by the fact he had just walked over a giant barrel of extremely expensive lava. He held Pacifica tightly around the waist and huffed. “You guys uh… wanna get some lunch?”

Ford smiled. “I think that’s a fine idea. When we manage to get down.” 

“Grappling hook?”

“Grappling hook, pumpkin.” the older man grinned and ruffled his great-niece’s hair. 

Together, the group began their descent onto the cavern’s surface, before beginning their slow, hesitating ascent to the world above - back to the town they all loved and valued so intensely. Dipper felt beyond proud of himself. Not least because Pacifica was holding his arm and resting her head on his shoulder adoringly and Ford was celebrating him so resolutely. 

They weren’t entirely prepared for what greeted them outside the chamber. 

The chicago-resembling construction site had changed dramatically with the onslaught the family had caused - if inadvertently. What had at first seemed towering and unpleasant was now lit in a soft, yellowed hue that sparkled and glittered in the slightest light, dancing in shapes against the dramatic earth that surrounded it. 

Tenements were now drenched from foundation to the first few floors in an opulent, golden layer. Black asphalt was now buried under a rink of flat, motionless metal that seemed to render the entire place less as a new suburb, and more as somewhere otherworldly and magical. 

Even Ford, the man who had seen most of the beauty that the world had to offer, was awed by the sight of that subterranean space - it now resembled more of a fairytale ballroom than it did a sinister, looming cave of brick and cement. 

The Clurichauns slowly emerged from their hiding places, stunned into silence and reverence of their world’s transformation, while mourning the loss of their precious business - and the seeming abandonment at the hands of The Big Man. They watched fearfully as the human destroyers made their way through. 

“Should we do somethin’? Blow ‘em away?” One Chaun whispered to the other.

“Freakin’ H man, you wanna try?” 

“Not really.”

“Then ya let ‘em go, ya nitwit!”

“Right, right…"

Instead, they peered from their brownstone windows and roof steps, silently. 

Getting back to the surface was markedly more difficult when the entire place had been coated in a smooth, metallic sheen of precious metal. They had to edge along slowly, hoping their boots, trainers and pumps would at least maintain a certain level of adhesion. 

Pacifica and Dipper lagged behind, the two firmly linked by the arms as they gingerly made their way down to the floor of the smothered cavern floor.

Pacifica blinked. “Hey, Dipper.”

“Yeah?” 

“How’s the tread on your sneakers?”

“Melted into a plain slab.”

“Ever been skating?”

“Huh?”

“C’mon.” She smiled and slipped off her boots, then began to slide on the golden sheened rink that was below them.

Dipper blinked as Pacifica took his hands and pulled him close. “We should catch up with the others-” He started, before faltering off.

He paused.

There they were, surrounded by glittering gold, reflecting light in uneven patterns of glint and glare against the dramatic, gold soaked tenements of the new Crawlspace. He felt a deep, red shade travel up his cheeks as he took in the surroundings. 

And, without another word, he decided to give it a try. 

Together, the terrifying wreckage swiftly turned into a grand ballroom - a subterranean venue for pirouettes, laughing as they slipped and fell, cuddling in the soft, yellow bloom lighting that surrounded them.

And Dipper felt like he could have done it forever.

“You know, Dipper, crushes don’t just go away.” Pacifica smiled as he held his waist. 

“Huh?”

“C’mon. I know you still have the hots for Wendy.”

“I’m trying to beat it. I promise.”

“I know you are. And I appreciate it. But y’know, I’m not stupid. I get that it’s not as easy as just switching them off when you get a girlfriend. You don’t have to change for me.”

Dipper went quiet. “You don’t think I’m just a… lovestruck dork?”

“Oh, you’re a totally lovestruck dork.” She beamed. “And I am too. With you. A crush isn’t love, Dipper. What we have? That’s a bit different to you eyeing up Wendy every time you see her.”

Dipper stammered his protests but soon went quiet as Pacifica held his cheek, the delicate flush in his cheeks only growing more scarlet as she leaned in to kiss him.

The two wrapped arms around each other and, in the glinting, soft hue of the precious metal, Dipper was more certain than ever that he had something truly priceless. They skated peacefully, just he and her - alone, comfortable, and, most of all, together. 

At least, until Kevin slid in carrying Mabel in a vague approximation of swan lake and crashed into a pile of crates, spilling a load of Dinkies snack cakes _everywhere_. After all, Dinkies could survive literally anything. The damned things were completely unscathed. What was it with those weird artificial sponge cake… things? 

Behind the crates, there stood a cast iron plaque, hammered into the sides of the Crawlspace’s structure. An ancient plaque that, lurked menacingly, as if it was waiting to contribute to the kids' problems with sinister fervour. 

**_Built in Partnership with Cankerblight, The Northwest and Fundhauser Families._ ** **_  
_** **_All In His Name._ **

Tragically - or, perhaps, just as well - nobody noticed. They were wrapped up in their own contentment as much as they were each other. And, for Dipper and Pacifica, it felt like a much needed respite. 

Perhaps mysteries could come back to the forefront another day.


	32. Reform

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a dinner date crosses lines with their next investigation, Dipper and Pacifica are taken off track by a new threat to the town. Could there really be an underground force taking over Gravity Falls once again? Summer's end seems ever-closer, and as the two try to make the most of their finale weeks, they can't help but be concerned there simply isn't enough time to unravel the last few mysteries lurking ahead of them.

When the group finally emerged back to the surface, reuniting with Wendy, Stan and Soos, they received a hero’s welcome. Kevin was embraced tightly by his sister while Mabel did a little celebratory dance and Dipper was hoisted onto his Grunkle’s shoulders with a huge grin on his face.

“Ya did good, kid. Took a lotta guts.” Stan beamed.

“You were awesome, Dipper!” Mabel beamed. 

“Yeah.” Wendy smiled, arms crossed. “Pretty neat.”

Pacifica just smiled as she watched the family making a fuss of him, and sat down in the grass, happily taking in the fresh air and sunshine again. She was pretty content to let him have his little moment of glory. After all, he had just walked over molten metal to save his sister’s boyfriend and a guy he didn’t even _like._

She smiled, rested her head against her hand and plucked up some grass idly. And only cringed a bit when the teenage epaulette magnate walked towards her. 

Marius wiped his brow and sat next to her, exhausted. “Your boyfriend, Pacifica - he’s quite the hero.”

“He is.” She smiled. “He’s amazing.”

“I feel the same way about my Grenda.” He sighed. “I hope she won’t hold all of this against me.”

“Seriously, Marius. Why _were_ you down there?”

“I am… not so different to you, Northwest. My name is a name I know relatively little about; have much to learn from. I truly do feel our families did great things together, and felt sure - certain - I would find such a thing down here.”

“So it isn’t just that you like _me_?” Pacifica ventured. 

“No. No, I have my partner. But I do know we were supposed to be far more in our ancestor’s eyes. I have seen the uh… the family tree. And I know what their plans were, in essence.”

“World domination.”

“At least, dominating the business world.”

“You’re naive, Fundhauser.”

“That may be so.” Marius smiled, awkwardly. “I uh… did not realise the worlds you and Dipper explored were so dangerous. He doesn’t… look like much of a hero.”

“He doesn’t. I don’t look much like one, either. Appearances can be deceptive, Marius. Let’s face it, you dress like a warlord.”

“These are my casual clothes.” He mumbled, looking down at his medals and blazer.

“Proof positive.” Pacifica giggled. “Look, Dipper doesn’t hate you. He just got the wrong idea.”

“That’s a relief. After all, I might need your help with some mysteries of my own, some day.” He smiled. “Perhaps after Summer. My home, my country - strange places."

“We don’t really know what’s gonna happen after Summer.” Pacifica said, simply. “It might just be me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Marius smiled. “A relationship like the one you and Dipper seem to have? It’s like it’s been forged in solid gold.” 

“Heh, I get it.”

“Hm?”

“The wordplay.”

“The what?”

“...Nevermind.” 

The Clurichaun gangs soon faced the eternal shame of realising they had been duped. Shortly after the Gravity Falls gossiper released articles about Gideon's latest prison sentence, making it very explicit that he was, in fact, a human and not a Leprechaun. Or Clurichaun. Or even a Goblin with big hair.

While Toby wasn't entirely sure why Pacifica and Dipper had demanded such specific wording, he was happy to comply. Especially after his recent tombstone theft scandal revolving around the Gothic photoshoot. It took the heat off a bit.

For Gideon, it was small penance. Prison proved to be as much for his protection at the hands of baying, tiny goblin men in fedoras as it was for the town’s protection against his demented wrath. If anything, he was pretty glad for the chance to round up a human gang again, even if it was in prison. What he didn’t expect was which department he was specifically allocated to. 

“Bakery? Why the hell is there a bakery?!”

“Silence, Prisoner No.618!”

“But ah don’t even know how ta make fairy cakes!”

“Well then you’d better learn, you horrible little man!”

“Y’all can’t do this to me! Y’all can’t make me bake cookies for th’rest of mah life!”

“We know.”

“Well, thank goodness-”

“So you’ll just do it for your year’s sentence.” 

Gideon stared, open mouthed, as the doors slammed behind him. He grumbled a long line of particularly colourful, enraged expletives as he picked up a whisk and recipe book. If he had to make cookies, it was only in Gideon Gleeful’s nature to make them the best danged cookies out there. 

**_Gleeful Bakery._ **

He kinda liked that. If he could get some sort of mind control chemicals together after he left prison, maybe-

From that day on, a daily shipment of cookies would arrive at The Crawlspace’s entrance in a municipal wagon, carried by Blubs and Durland especially for those struck by Gideon’s exploitation - a minor solution that was intended to slowly kill off the habit, and keep things a little more peaceful on the surface world.

While the Crawlspace remained the town’s secret, for the fantasy creatures it once again became home. Fabulously sparkly with lots of shelter and absolutely no management made it, easily, the most viable home for the little men, the manotaurs, fairies, nymphs and tree geese that demanded only the finest. 

From that point on, at least, there was no major sugary disaster or riot that seemed to strike the town, save for the great Rabbit Uprising that was in the early stages of planning from the forest glades subject to Stan Pines’ escape - now ruled by horrific anarchy without the influence of their fluffy monarch, whom’s return they eagerly awaited, blades and teeth prepared.

Perhaps a story for another time, though.

_A few nights later..._

Dipper sat atop the rooftop skylight of the Shack’s gift shop, alone, taking in the fresh air and going over his thoughts as he supped from a can of Pitt in peaceful, if slightly awkward, silence. The crickets chirped around the vast forest beyond (or, at least, the gnomes imitating cricket chirps. Whichever it was, it was pretty peaceful.) and the brilliant night sky glowed its deep purple shade with peaceful contentment.

Mabel, Pacifica, Grenda and Candy were all in prime sleepover mode. He’d already heard the sound of glass breaking, so he presumed he had a bit of alone time. After the past few weeks, he was pretty sure he needed it. 

He smiled as he held the Corduroy lumberjack hat in his hands, content for now that he was - at least - fairly comfortable with things, With himself. Even if he did have a dumb crush on-

“Wendy?”

“Hey dude.” She said as she stepped onto the rooftop. “What’s up?”

“Oh, I- I’m just thinking. That’s all.” 

Wendy sat down and smiled. “Bit of a crazy summer, huh?”

“You could say that.” Dipper smiled.

“You did good down there, y’know. I didn’t get a chance to thank you for, y’know, not letting Kevin get turned into bullion.”

“Heh. Thanks.”

“Prouda you, man. And Pacifica. You two are amazing together.”

Dipper smiled nervously and swung his legs back and forth quietly as he ruminated what she was saying. "Yeah. I guess we are."

“You deserve to be happy, kid. I get that it’s still pretty rough. I’m glad you found someone of your own.”

“I just hope it’s not gonna be for nothing.”

“After summer?”

“After summer.” He replied. He knew it was about time he just shut up about it. It felt like he had constantly retrodden the path over and over - and yet, in his head, it never seemed to improve. It was a fierce, constant reminder that it was only going to get more difficult. 

To an extent, he even wondered if it was a good idea to come back to Gravity Falls. 

Wendy punched his arm playfully. “Dude, trust me. You guys aren’t just for a Summer break. I’ve been in relationships that have lasted like, two hours, days, weeks, months - and what you two have - that’s something a little more special.”

“You think?”

“I _know_ , dude. Everyone knew you two’d be a thing the day that you came back into town. It was bound to happen.”

“I hope you’re right.” 

Wendy smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’re a great guy, Dip. A weird crush on a lumberjack’s daughter shouldn’t get in the way of you and your girlfriend. ‘Kay?”

Dipper blushed and chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the arm she had punched earlier. “A-a-alright, I get the idea.”

“And if you need anything, let me know. I owe you one.”

“You got it.” Dipper smiled as his crush descended back down the gift shop ladder and got back to sweeping up the shop floor. 

All the same, his eyes couldn’t help but wander back to the enormous tarpaulin that covered the Stan O’War, surrounded as it was by ropes, chains and lumber. Rolls of canvas gently reflected the moonlight, while cables, aerials and wires seemed to festoon the entire sight with sporadic, albeit unmistakable silhouettes and shapes underneath the boat’s weather cover.

He huffed and sipped his drink.

He had finally learnt how Mabel had really felt. Desperate for a never ending summer. As little as he wanted to admit it, he had never loved this crazy town more, and had never wanted so much for it to be part of his life. 

Gravity Falls wasn't just a bumper sticker any more. He felt certain it was his home. Where he belonged. Not just because of Pacifica - though she was a pretty massive component - but because here, in this little Oregon backwater, he _did_ feel respected. He _wasn't_ just a little Dipper. He was growing up to be the town’s hero. As much as he hated to admit it, Gideon had him pretty damned well worked out. He didn’t want to be a little city boy. He wanted to be Big Man. Just, like, a different kind of Big Man. 

He subconsciously rubbed his chin, as if he was expecting the start of a beard to be there. It definitely wasn't. 

As he had got more involved in the lives of those who lived and worked in Gravity Falls, uncovered more of the town’s underground past and learnt more about the stranger members of the population, he has grown convinced that his presence in Gravity Falls was a good thing. 

A better thing than in Piedmont.

Pacifica threw open the window and shouted at the top of her voice. “Hey, Dippingsauce! We’re getting pizza, you want?!”

“Where from?”  
  
“Matzio Moose’s!”

“I won’t be a sec!” He grinned.

“Well hurry up, hon, or we’ll get you one with anchovies!”

“Dude. Uncool." Dipper laughed and slid down the ladder enthusiastically, running up to the attic bedroom where Grenda, Candy, Mabel and Pacifica gave him a typically excitable welcome.

For now, at least, things were pretty great. 

**Author's Note:**

> Can you believe it?! On with Episode 7. Toot toot! Etc Etc. 
> 
> Huge thanks to my brilliant fiancee, Kyo, for her proofreading, patience and story suggestions.
> 
> Please leave comments and kudos if you enjoy; your engagement means the world and guarantees more chapters and tales in the series!
> 
> Find my artwork:  
> www.jamooneyart.deviantart.com
> 
> Find my socials:  
> www.jamooney.tumblr.com  
> www.instagram.com/jamooneyart
> 
> Patreon:  
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> 
> Or my alternative history novel:  
> www.thegreatconspiracy.co.uk


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